


Shrike

by vampyrs



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: 1910s, Ascalon Club, Banshees, Bisexual Female Character, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Edwardian Period, F/M, Guard of Priwen - Freeform, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Character-centric, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, Title from a Hozier Song, Vampire Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2019-10-20 05:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampyrs/pseuds/vampyrs
Summary: A young woman with neither creed nor name awakens on a lakeshore with little knowledge of who or what she is. Her only guide the voices that ripple and roar, telling her to make haste to London. There she can find answers, she’s sure of it. But plague, poverty and warring factions, some not too unfamiliar, make hell of the city and monsters of those who live in it. Whilst her dreams taunt her with fragments of her past, her newfound abilities make it increasingly difficult to hold on to the present.Follow Ava as she tries to uncover the truth about herself, her family and those she once loved all while the walls of death and pestilence close in around her.





	1. Prologue

 

My songbird with beak as sharp as thorn,

Hatch now from your flooded grave

 

You must mend thy broken brittle bones,

To find the barbed and jagged thorn

 

Though life you can no longer take,

The hearts of thousands will not cease to ache.

 

 

Slain once yet never again,

Fly now and help the living rest

 

Upon this earth, my kin hath set,

A grievous plague of grume and gore

 

Cry out now for your lover of old,

Yet beware of those who fear the sky’s great Marigold.

 

 

Sing your sweet and suffering song,

Take flight to greet the urban giant’s face

 

Find your dearest, though circled by sin,

The shield enshrined by blood of the dead

 

Until the disease is foiled and the tribunal called

You will never know peace, or feel accord.

 

 

Bird of slaughter, skewer our kin.

 


	2. Born Again

The water’s icy fingers still caressed her skin as she collapsed onto the soggy shore. Her chest heaved and coughed in the cold, banishing water from her aching lungs. Rough rocks scraped her skin as she helplessly began pounding her chest to find air. With a short sputter, the cold air rushed in to take the water’s place.

 

She was alive. 

 

Not long after she gained her first breath, a sharp cry emitted from somewhere in the distant trees. The trees were undressing when last she saw them, now they held their leaves like proud gems at the tips of their branches, the moonlight rippling against their freshness. The world around her looked raw and recent, in the darkness she even saw wildflowers daring to grow amongst the reeds and grasses. Struggling to her feet, she stepped towards the forest.

 

Her instincts told her to turn the other way, to stay clear of the danger. Yet even in life that was never her strong suit. A single sweet voice beckoned her into the darkened depths of the forest.

 

She whispered a name unknown to her, a question to the trees. No reply was given, the trees just stood tall like silent sentinels. She followed the voice. Dried pine needles and twigs pricked at the soles of her naked feet as she wandered.

 

Another high-pitched cry echoed through the trees.

 

_ Was it a woman?   _ She couldn't tell but broke out into a sloppy run regardless. A pair of bright green eyes caught a shred moonlight and glared. The creature was running from something yet slowed its pace long enough to drift past the woman with caution.

 

She stood watching the creature limp past her, catching a glimpse of red fur and the white of exposed bone. Too focused on his potential attacker, the wounded fox stumbled over an uncovered root and crumpled.

 

Without so much as a second thought, the woman ran towards the fox, crouching to the floor so as not to frighten him. The fox let out another shriek in agony, his hind was lame. The poor animal convulsed and tried to flee but failed to find the strength. She had no idea what to do or how to help. The only thing she had to offer was comfort.

 

The animal rejected her first touch, snarling and trying to wriggle away until it accepted its fate and awaited the killing blow. The blow never came. The woman merely scratched his ears and stroked his fur, avoiding the back end of his broken form. She tore a large strip of wispy fabric from her dress, carefully winding it around his lame leg. The fox had been quietly observing the woman when his ears abruptly picked up and his snout tilted to catch the wind. He had briefly forgotten his aggressor.

 

She noticed how the fox’s eyes bulged and his breath grew sharp again. Terror struck his features. She turned to see dotted flames waging through the forest and heard the savage screeches of a beast. Despite the fox’s protests, she scooped him into her arms as gently as she could before taking off the way she came. The creature's gargled shrill grew closer. Loud human shouts soon followed.

 

She ran until she reached the lake, finding a small hollow in a fallen oak tree whose dead limbs caressed the waters. She unloaded the fox as deep in the hollow as she could, attempting to calm his terror with soft touches and hums. The woman instinctively reached out from the hollow to grab a thick and muddy stick, aiming it at the mouth of the hollow. Their assailant grew near. Shreiks and pants sounded from the lakeside. She couldn't keep the fox quiet. He whimpered in pain and fear. A twig snapped to the right of the hollow followed by a string of gross snuffles. A sharp growl then silence. Even the voice in her head grew quiet.

 

She briefly turned away from the hollow’s opening to glance at the fox. The terrified animal let out a shrill as the creature appeared a few feet from the hollow. The woman snapped around to see the outline of a figure, eyes a ghastly yellow glow. The creature stood still for just a moment before lurching towards them, breaking into a staggering run.

 

The woman raised her stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for getting this far in my fic! I've had this idea knocking about since I started playing Vampyr and couldn't wait to actually get it written. Chapter 3 is already in the pipeline but for now, I hope you enjoy Chapter 2 (:


	3. The Mullaghmeen Clearing

_Through the window she watched the moonshine ripple across the settling sea, the waters unusually calm and the moon unusually bright. There was no sound of violent waves beating off the shore or seagull’s squawking as they circled the bay._

 

_There was peace tonight._

_She smelt in the sea air and felt it in her bones._

 

_“The water can’t hurt you here, love. Neither can he.” the soft being below her shifted. A hand ran through her disordered hair, another brushed her cheek. The man linked his rough fingers with her own, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before softly bringing the back of her fingers to his lips._

 

_“That bastard is at least a thousand miles away if someone hasn't already put him in the ground.” She smiled and leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw before settling back down on his chest, returning her attention to the sea._

 

_“You’re safe.” she felt lips on her forehead, his stubble softly scratching her skin._

 

_“Come back to me, Ava.”_

  
  


The woman awoke in a haze. Bright light assaulted her eyes and voices assaulted her ears. A constant stream of incoherent chatter flowed through her. She recognised none of the voices nor could she decipher from where they originated. They sounded from inside her head like a thousand people whispered in her ear all at once

 

She desperately covered her ears with her palms, attempting to squeeze the voices out from inside her. She had no such luck. The more she concentrated on them, the louder they grew until the voices blended into one.

 

**London, my child. You must go back to London.**

 

She recognised the cryptic voice, from where she couldn't quite place.

 

“Who _are_ you?” she recognised not her own voice let alone that of another.

 

When it gave no reply she searched her surroundings again. The walls around her curved as if she was in a tube of timber. The room was neat with colourful etchings on the walls and furniture. Colour splattered everything except the curtain at the front of the room, a mucky cream. Voices sounded from behind the curtain now, she noticed. Not like the ones in her head, these voices held no ghostly echo and held no overwhelming tone. They were human voices, real voices.

 

“I’ll check on her then, hold on-” a woman’s head emerged from between the two curtains “Oh! You’re finally awake! We thought we’d have lost you the night those hunter fellows brought you to us, pale as a ghost you were! The kettle’s just boiled, I’ll go fetch you some tea.”

 

For a moment after the woman left she had no idea what to do. She didn't know if she could trust herself, let alone this wonderfully chatty woman. She hadn't the faintest idea of where she was, who she was or why she was in what she now knew was a caravan. She was hearing voices and dreaming of a man whose voice and touch she knew but not his name or face.

 

She couldn't even be sure of her own name.

 

Edging her way out of bed, she dangled her legs over the side a moment before firmly planting her bare feet on the floor. She winced at the cold of the wooden flooring yet continued walking towards the small wooden dresser at the foot of the bed.

 

A rusted mirror sat on the dresser and she wasted no time in examing her appearance. The faded scar ingrained along her left cheekbone and part of her jaw was the first thing to catch her attention. The man in her dream had made a point of tracing it.

 

She recognised her own eyes and wondered which parent she gained their dusty brown pigment from. The same could be said for her matted sandy hair.

 

As she tugged her hair over her shoulder a mark on her neck became apparent. She planted two fingers on either side of the scar and stretched the skin to get a better look. A mark from a two-pronged incision sat atop her skin, faded now yet still noticeable to her. The woman instinctively tugged her hair back over her shoulder, concealing the scar.

  


“Tea’s ready!”

 

A thin strip of light gleamed through the perfect split in the centre of the curtains. With an unsettled breath, she peeled back the cloth and stepped outside. The light startled her at first although the sun stayed hiding behind a wall of cloud. Once her eyes adjusted she took another step and her feet soon found the forest floor as they had done before.

 

The chatty woman sat beside a fire in the middle of the small settlement, an old dog at her feet. Some three caravans and a tent outlined the clearing where they rested. The forest’s beech trees formed a dome over the settlement, washing lines hung taut across their feathered branches.

 

“Where am I?” the woman asked, more a question directed at herself than anyone else. The way the trees above her splayed with the gentle wind was not unfamiliar, she had been to a place like this before.

 

“This is Mullaghmeen forest, pet! Have been for a couple of weeks now. You must be starving, can we get you something to eat?” the woman smiled at her from by the fire as she downed her mug of tea, a free log with another mug balanced on it sat beside her.

 

“I’m..I’m okay, thank you.” she took the mug and plonked herself down on the log after patting the woman’s dog on the head.

 

“Suit yourself, there’s more than enough to go around should you find yourself starving. I’m Agnus by the way.” she extended her hand to shake.

 

“Ava.” The woman shifted her mug and freed her hand to return the gesture.

 

“Well, Ava, it’s nice to know you can speak. Even the hunters who brought you to us said they never heard a peep out of you.”

 

Ava took a gulp of her tea and immediately felt her stomach churn, “Hunters?”.

 

“Yeah, a group of about six lads brought you and your friend here. Something wrong with your tea?” the woman noticed Ava attempting not to wretch and wondered if the milk was off.

 

“No, not at all. The tea is wonderful, thank you really. I’m afraid my stomach is simply upset. I don’t think I could keep anything down at the moment if I tried.” Ava moved her cuppa from her knee and placed it by the fire, crossing her legs and wishing she could collapse in on herself from embarrassment.

 

“You must forgive my ignorance, Miss, for I can’t quite remember anything that happened with clarity before I awoke. Do you know where these hunters found me?”

 

“The Hunters found you on their hunt. They were after one of ours. Michael went rabid a few days ago. Killed his own brother he did. It was who heard the commotion and caught him attempting to eat the poor lad. He took off into the forest and the next thing you know these Hunters appeared with their torches and guns.”

 

Agnus reached for a metal pike and meticulously prodded the fire before her.

 

“They were bangin' on about all sorts. Said they were tracking a vampire, could you believe it? And that they thought the one they were trackin’ made Michael one as well. Just thought he went off his rocker if you ask me, was bound to happen at some point.” Ava flinched at the word and her mind wandered to the marks on her neck. Could she be? No, that would be preposterous. Such creatures belong in horror novels and children's nightmares.

 

“Anyhow, those men came back a couple of weeks ago with you and your pest. Said you were attacked by Michael, that he threw you and you must've hit your head or somethin’. My mind isn't all too sharp either now I must say so I've probably forgotten a lot of the details. He’s fine by the way, your fox.”

 

“My fox? I don’t have a…. Yes! The fox from the forest! How fairs his hind?” how could she forget the luckless creature? 

 

“Ah, he’ll be fine. Still walks with a limp but he’s out hunting with my girls right now so he can't be too bad. He’s quite tame you know, took to my daughter like a cow to grass. They’ll be back in a few hours so you can see him then.” Ava nodded, finding a shred of her tattered dress to fiddle with.

 

“I would love to see him off, yet I regret that I cannot stay. You and your people have treated me with so much kindness, more than I’m sure I deserve, I will do anything to repay you but first I must go to London.”

 

“The Big Smoke? What business has a young woman with no memory got in that shitehole? You’re as likely to be shelled as you are to be shot. I know you say you’ve no memory but by God, you forgot the War?”

 

“All I know is that London holds answers for me. Please don’t ask me how I know. I will leave you at first light tomorrow with the promise of returning with reparations for all you have done for me. Keeping a stranger alive for two weeks is more than anyone could ask, let alone that you would keep her wounded fox as well.”

 

Agnus sat thinking for a moment, taking a long drink of her tea.

 

“Listen, lass, I don’t know what kinda mess you're caught up in here. With you running around the woods with vampires and foxes to your wounds healing overnight, not having your memory and those fancy clothes of yours. I really don't know what to make of you.” harshness stayed absent from her words, there was only honesty to be found.

 

“You're welcome to stay as long as you like but I smell trouble off of you and my family don't need any more of that. My daughters are still traumatised from finding their friend half eaten by his brother. So, you're more than welcome to go or to stay so long as you promise not to bring any more trouble back here with you. And I don’t want any payment off you either. Unlike most people around these parts, we’re not in the business of taking things from people who have barely anything to give. Though as torn as it is, I’d be happy to take that dress off your hands and give you something more comfortable to wear.”

 

Ava glanced down at the fabric that enveloped her, teasing a few shreds between her fingers. She had no use for it, not one. “It’s the very least I can do. You’re sure there’s nothing more I can do to repay you?”

 

“Not a thing, pet. I’ve everything I need here. I must ask though, are you planning on taking that fox of yours with you?”

 

“No, not at all. London is no place for foxes and I doubt he would come with me even if I tried. I only met him that night, he hardly knew me and it’s better it stays that way.”

 

“He’s got a good nose that one. Been great for sniffing out the rabbits. I’ll tell you what, with that dress and your fox consider any debt you owe to be paid. And since your fox will be so useful, I’ll even drive you to Dublin myself. You can catch a mail boat from there to Holyhead, you’ll be on your own from there. Deal?” Agnus extended her hand for Ava to shake and she hesitantly took it. Something within her told her she could trust this charitable woman yet the rest of her screamed for her to not be so readily trusting of someone she just met.

 

"Deal."

 

 

 


	4. Death on the London Express

The train car reeked of stale sweat and dead air; too many bodies packed into such a tight space.

 

Most of the rickety train’s passengers were soldiers heading for France, only a few civilians stood squished between them. None of these civilian passengers had paid for a ticket. The soldiers, knowing no train conductor would dare check their carriage, had seen the civilians wandering around by the tracks and had beckoned them on.

 

Some even hoisted children onto their shoulders so they could avoid the squeeze.

 

This part of the train wasn’t meant for people, it was meant for cargo. The first class carriages were right at the from of train, they looked warm and well-lit. The people there lounged in their seats and drank steaming hot tea while those in the back of the train slowly suffocated.

 

Ava had only just made the train and stood pressed against the carriage door, almost falling out at every stop. More people piled onto the carriage. The already sparse space grew even smaller.

 

 

The opposite could have been said for the mailboat to Holyhead. Ava had enough room to lay down and rest on a sturdy pile of packages and that she did for fear of otherwise being sick.

 

She did everything she could to not think about he waves beneath her, the ones that carried the ship. They could have grown harsh at any moment and broken the ship’s base yet they never did. Not even the ever-present chatter in her head could distract her from the thought.

 

This hadn’t stopped Ava from thinking of each and every way the sea couldher and swallow the ship. She didn’t know why such a strong fear water grew within her, only that it did.

 

On her way down the ships’s ramp she had gripped a hand railing so hard it crumbled.

 

“These old things should’ve been replaced ‘bout twenty years ago.” the harbourmaster simply brushed it off as them being old and rusted yet she knew they weren’t in need of repair to that extent.

 

‘Then again’ she thought,.

 

‘I can’t say I know a whole lot about anything. Let alone iron.’

 

Having only awoken when the ship’s anchor fell in Holyhead and having to speed straight to the train, Ava had had no time to process her dream. She wasn’t sure what to make of these dreams yet; wether to take them as being of fact or fiction. All she knew was they made her feel something, something deep within her stomach that couldn’t quite be named.

 

_The room she had entered was stuffy but warm. Candles covered the shelves and sills to keep away the darkness._

__

__

 

_A man sat writing at a wooden desk beside the door. His blue shirt was crumpled and rolled up to the sleeves. His collar a mess and top three buttons non-existent, he sat hunched over a piece of yellowing paper before noticing her enter the room._

__

__

 

_“Hi, Love.” he leant back in his chair and stretched his broad arms, the chair’s wooden frame creaking as he dropped his quill back into the pot._

__

__

 

_“Sorry, is it late? I wasn’t paying attention to the time.” he let his arms flop back in his lap and let out a yawn._

__

__

 

_“It’s nearly two in the morning. We’re out on patrols at dawn.” She heard herself answer him._

__

__

 

_“Christ.” he yawned again and shook his head, staring down at the paper before him._

__

__

 

_“You about finished? Or can I be of any help?”_

__

__

 

_“I’m afraid not, love. Carl wants these orders sent out at first light and I don’t care to burden you with my aberrations at such a late hour as this. Especially after you’ve been training those damned rookies all day and night.”_

__

__

 

_Ava felt her body move towards him, her fingers reaching for the short hairs on the back of his next to tentatively scrunch them together whilst her other hand lifted the paper from before him. Her eyes carefully scanned the page, his written words a taut scrawl. Before she could finish reading he placed his hand over hers so she turned to look at him._

__

__

 

_“I know it’s a shambles”, the man looked so tired. His blue eyes were almost half closed, dark circles pooled beneath them._

__

__

 

_“Eldritch wants his orders before dawn? Then the bastard will get them. We’ll finish these off. Together.”_

__

__

 

_She saw the man bring her hand to his lips and press his lips her bruised knuckles before giving her fingers a soft squeeze._

__

__

 

_“Alright, together,” he yawned once more before scooting his chair back from the table to make room for her to sit a top his lap. This felt normal to her, like they had done this many times before._

__

__

 

_Ava made use of the room he gave her and sat so his chin could rest upon her shoulder and see the sheet before them, his arm reaching around her to grasp the paper and angle it upwards._

__

__

 

_She settled in his lap before beginning to properly read over what the man had written. She got newly halfway through when she felt his warm lips against her neck before his nose nuzzled where he had kissed._

__

__

 

_“Thank you, love.”_

__

__

 

 

The dream had been so real. She felt the warmth of the candles, smelled the earthy smell of the man, felt his embrace. She could almost read his hand writing and wished he had left a signature at the letter’s end for her know his name. Oh, how she would give anything just to know his name.

 

A sense of dread overcame her, the voices in her head building to a hammering crescendo that pulsed within her brain so loud she could focus on nothing else. The voices grew so intense that she wanted nothing more than to cover her ear and cry out in pain.

A cry erupted from the carriage. The voices grew quiet.

 

A young woman in shredded clothes held the crumpled body of her child in her arms. Her throat swallowed another cry as she sank to the floor.

 

Ava tried to reach the woman but a soldier took her arm, shaking his solemn head at her as one of his comrades draped his jacket over the body of the dead girl.

 

The poor woman grasped her child’s frail fingers in her own, clasping her hands as if in prayer.

 

 

All the train’s passengers lurched forward suddenly as the train abruptly slowed its pace. A terrifying horn sounded from the front of the train that startled Ava’s gaze away from the woman and her child.

 

The next smell to assault her nose was no longer sweat but the all too familiar stench of decay and the rotten waters of the Thames.

 

The train had arrived in London.

 


	5. The Beast of the East End

The voices in her head grew ferociously more persistent the moment she stepped off the train. Whilst before they could be summed up as a tame murmur, they now heaved with words of death and ruin.  
  
The very streets of London itself reflected the same sentiment.  
  
Ava stepped off the train with hordes of people. The soldiers immediately separated off and met with other soldiers awaiting their arrival whilst the civilians scattered off in various directions. Everyone had somewhere to be or someone to be with except Ava. She only now realised she came travelled to London completely on a whim. She was completely alone, her only friends the voices in her mind she couldn’t even be sure were real. The only thing she knew she could trust was the words of those in her head; a chorus of unique voices. Some even spoke languages in ancient tongues of old that Ava failed to recognise. When they whispered, their words sometimes offered guidance yet when they screamed, they screamed of death. The women’s voices weren’t as loud as when the young girl on the train had died, not enough to cause Ava any pain. However, they were loud enough that it was difficult to take anything else in.  
  
So many voices talking over one another. It was as though all the women in the world spoke at once sometimes.  
  
**Find Bridget. For She Shall Guide You To Him.**  
  
One voice managed to briefly break through and speak above the rest. It’s sharpness undeniable. The woman sounded as though she was so close that Ava could touch her, like she was whispering directly into her ear and disregarding the others completely. When this woman spoke all the others quietened. There could be a thousand women named Bridget in a single borough of London, let alone the entire city. Nevertheless, it was really the only thing she had to go on. She had to try. She had to find _him_ , whoever he was.

  
  
Ava had been trailing aimlessly in the direction the voices told her to go without paying to much attention the streets surrounding her when her foot suddenly struck the butt of a discarded gun. The worn leather strap looked like it had come undone, someone must have been in a hurry. She tugged the weapon out of its holster and snapped the barrel out before counting the number of bullets nestled within the wheel. She spun the barrel once more before clicking it closed and latching the holster onto her belt and continuing through the streets.  
  
London seemed dark despite being the middle of the day, the industrial fog cloaking the sun. The ground was muddier than she thought a city’s streets would be. There were far more corpses than she had expected too. Some sat in foul-smelling great pits of quarantine whilst others lay strewn along the streets, as common as fallen leaves.  
  
There weren’t many people in this part of town to pass her but those who saw her looked at her with accusing eyes. She wondered if it was the clothes Maggie had given her or if she looked as brash and wild as she did when she at first she awoke in Maggie’s caravan. A twig could very well still be lodged somewhere in her clumsily tied back hair, though that was the least of her worries right now.

  
  
She reached the part of the western docks that seemed the most populated. She watched from a rickety balcony across the street. Large walls surrounded a well-lit warehouse with tents strewn around the perimeter. A dozen or so people milled about outside. They carried blankets, medical supplies and crates of food. Was this some kind of hospital? None of the people appeared to be in uniform. There wasn’t a lab coat or a white apron in sight. The people passing out supplies to those on cots wore regular colourless clothes.  
  
‘Civilians then,’ she thought.  
  
A man wearing an ill-fitting blazer walked towards the building. A cross around his neck and an aura of kindness. He stopped at the door to greet a man, extending his hand to help him with a thick pile of blankets. Ava sank to the wooden board of the balcony and swung her legs over the edge, her own fete barely visible in the dying light.  
  
‘Go and ask. What harm could it do?’ she asked the air.  
  
Forcing her gaze up from her feet she looked to the city before her. Although she wasn’t that high up, the balcony let her eyes wander over the docks and skyline at least. And despite the smell, the corpses and the fog, she had to admit that London was beautiful. Pillars of smoke rose to a reddening sky, the setting sun casting a strange glow across the unevenly tiled roofs.  
  
‘Red sky at night...a shepherd’s delight,’ she murmured to herself before immediately wondering where she learned the term.  


It was almost dark in a city where she had no shelter. The voices all pointed for her to go to the warehouse. She didn’t have much of a choice. She hopped down from the balcony far too recklessly for the height of it but her bones failed to creak. She let out a short scream but quickly regained her composure upon realising she had stuck the landing. Before she could turn the corner to the warehouse, a shriek echoed her own. Against her better judgment, Ava took off in the direction from whence it came. Another cry sounded from an alleyway to her left and she immediately headed for it, thinking someone could be injured. A dark figure stood looming over a corpse in the middle of the street, glowing yellow eyes shining in the smokie darkness; An all too familiar beast.  
  
The creature appeared to stare at her for a moment before beginning a slow hobble.  
  
“Help me! Please!” a human voice, young and scared rang out from behind a bin near the beast. It paid the boy no mind and broke into a distorted run towards Ava. She had already tried running from these creatures, they were fast and she wasn't. It was time for the tried and true. She spotted a broken pipe by the gutter at her feet and grabbed it, rust embedding in her palm as she did.

The creature’s pace quickened and she barely had enough time to draw her gun from her belt. She spun the barrel and made her arm an arrow, aiming her eye straight down the barrel before pulling the trigger. The bullet struck its shoulder and it let out a scream but showed no signs of slowing down, still scrambling towards her.

She fired again and missed.

A third time and it broke off a chunk of the beast’s face.

It finally reached her, angered and rabid, and immediately lunged for her neck. She blocked it with the pipe, jaws clamping down on hard iron. Its teeth just skimmed her skin but she managed to shove it away from her before it could do any real damage. It stumbled back and let out a roar at her which she returned, adjusting her grip on the pole. Before the creature could lunge at her she brought her full strength down upon it, beating the metal off its head. The creature faltered but she was relentless, not allowing it an inch to breathe. Even when it fell to the ground she kept swinging until her arms ached and weakened.

 

She let the pole slip from her hands and took a step back, watching the creature scramble to its knees. She pulled out her gun again just in time for the creature to attempt to lunge at her, a bullet stopping it dead in its tracks. The creature fell limp.

 

What had she done?

 

Ava’s chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath back. She took a step towards where she heard the child’s voice but her feet faltered. “Miss?” she lifted her head to see the young boy crawling out from behind a rubbish bin. “He killed that poor old man. He would've killed me. Thank you, Miss, thank you.” Ava wiped her face, a smattering of blood clinging to her hand. She swallowed hard and looked over at the dead old man the young boy was referring to. She stood after catching her breath and walked towards the decimated corpse.

 

“These beasts must feed on flesh,” she mumbled to herself, thinking back to the state of the fox’s leg when it ran to her in the forest. The boy was on his feet, scampering over to her with a harsh limp, “They do, Miss. But these are not beasts, they’re the infected. Victims of the flu. Drives em’ mad, I suppose.” Ava turned to face the young boy. He looked so cold, so thin. Not far from meeting death himself. His cap was far too big for his head, so much so that he had to keep turning it up and away from his eyes. He was so young, his voice had barely broken.

 

“Are you hurt?” she asked, not able to see any blood on him. “No, Miss. I’m alright thanks to you. I’m Rufus.” he looked up at her and smiled, his sickly cheeks hollowing even further as he did. “You should head home Rufus, it appears the nights are no place for the young,” Ava turned away from the boy, stuffing her gun back in her belt.

 

“Wait! Miss, I’m afraid I don’t have a home. I don’t have much of anything really but I’d still like to repay you for saving my life. Please let me bring you to someone who can help get the blood out of your clothes at least?” he was trying to keep up with her pace and barely succeeding.

 

“You don’t owe me anything, Rufus. I was just passing through.”

 

“Please, Miss! The Night Shelter is just over that wall. They’ll give you a meal and some clean clothes. Maybe even a bed for the night!”

 

She stopped abruptly and faced the boy, “What makes you say I don’t have somewhere to go?”

 

“W-well all due respect, Miss, I know a lost soul when I see one. Terribly common in these parts we are,” he looked up at her with such innocence and good-intent. His hollow eyes had seen things they never should have, that much was clear. His eyes reminded her of her own when she had glanced in the mirror. Rufus seemed barely phased by the dead man on the street or the dead beast beside him, just took it in his stride as he seemed to have no other option. Then again, neither did she.

 

“Alright, then Rufus. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for your support on this story. I really wasn't expecting to get any kudos or even a hundred views so I am so happy that you seem to be enjoying this story so far! I should firstly apologise for not updating in so long. This story is the only project I'm working on right now but college and work still manage to keep me busy and tired enough to not have enough time to update regularly. That being said, most of my assignments have been turned in for now so I should have more time to write in the coming weeks.
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions as to ways I can improve how I write, I'm all ears and I love hearing your feedback so please don't be afraid to leave a comment. I really am pouring my heart into making this story the best it can be so I'm always open to constructive criticism.
> 
> Also, for those of you who are wondering when McCullum will be properly introduced in the story, you won't have long to wait!
> 
> Hope you're all doing great and that you enjoy this chapter!


	6. Baintsíde

The Night Shelter was only a few minutes walk from the dreaded alleyway yet it felt like Rufus talked for hours. He told her how he had been rummaging for food in rubbish bins when the old man had bolted past him, followed swiftly by the beast. He told her how he worried for Stella as she often liked to take a walk as the sun was setting. Stella was like his mum, he explained. She gave him everything she could spare and in return, she asked only for his ears to listen to her soft ramblings because her real son refused to.

 

“He’s a right arse, that Seymore. He gets awfully angry at me and me mum for just being in his line of sight. I stay out of the house and try to come here as often as I can so Stella has one less mouth to worry about feedin’. Stella says Seymore’s a lot less angry when I’m away anyways.”

 

“Exactly how angry does he get at you?” Ava asked, having an ill feeling in her gut that she already knew the answer to her own question. The boy huffed and tipped his floppy hat away from his face, it was only then that shadows on his hollow eyes were lifted and she could see that it was more than shadows which darkened his eyes. They were nearing the warehouse and Rufus seemed to pick up his pace to get there when he heard her question.

 

“Rufus,” she took his elbow lightly, careful not to apply a lot of pressure to his frail arm, “Did Seymore do that to your eye?”

 

“Oh, if it isn't Rufus the Curse! How fares you today, my boy? Bringing in more strays I see.” Ava’s gaze snapped up to meet the eyes of a woman in a dark hat and darker clothes. She didn't appear malicious until she looked at Rufus as though he were the last person on earth she could ever hope to see.

 

“Good evening, Miss Paxton,” Rufus took off his hat and stared at the floor, not daring to meet the woman’s gaze.

 

“Who’s this then?” the woman regarded Ava with an iron stare and for a moment Ava worried the woman would spot the outline of her gun beneath her blazer. As if the blood didn't raise enough suspicion.

 

“This is my friend. We’re here to talk to Sean.”

 

“You never answered my question, boy. Who is she?”

 

“ _Rufus_ has already given you an answer,” she regarded the woman with a small forced smile and extended her hand to shake, “My name is Ava. Nice to meet you, Miss?”

 

“Paxton. Lottie Paxton.” Lottie shifted her basket to one hand and took Ava’s, barely noticing its bloody stain. “You’ll find Sean in his office.”

 

Rufus mumbled a quiet “Thank you, Miss Paxton” before heading straight past Lottie and into the warehouse. Ava gave the woman a nod before quickly jogging after Rufus. A sudden wave of nausea washed over her when she did, her head feeling so light that she might fall.

 

Deciding to stick to the wall for support, she found Rufus stood before a beaten oak door attached to a frame of overlapping metal panelling, the strange mix of textures looked like a hastily made jigsaw with nailed-in pieces. Rufus fixed his collar and his cap before rapping his knuckles of the wood, “Sean? It’s Rufus Kingsberry. Is it alright if I come in?”

 

“One moment, Rufus!” Came a soft voice on the other side. The man was Irish. South Dublin, perhaps? He hadn’t said enough for her to be sure of the borough but he was definitely from Dublin.

 

“Lottie seems like quite the character,” Ava wiped some of the drying blood on her trousers, not wanting to soil her blazer.

 

“Well, despite her being homeless herself and volunteering at the Shelter. She’s not awfully fond of us homeless. Says we're a burden and all that. She’s still allowed to live and work here though. I doubt the Sad Saint’s able to see the bad in no one, especially a person willing to help with the cause.”

 

The door in front of them swung open. This was the man she had seen walking to the Shelter before she heard Rufus’ plea for help. Same kind aura, same wooden crucifix. The cross around his neck caught attention, it’s engravings carved in such a familiar way that Ava could almost see the carpenter’s chisel carving it.

 

“My sincerest apologies for your wait. Please come inside,” Sean grasped Ava’s hand in both of his and gave it a shake, doing the same for Rufus before gently guiding them inside. His office was well-lit yet remarkably messy. A desk sat by the fireplace, papers stacked two feet high and crumpled. An old mattress sat between two bookshelves, books bulging from their dusty shelves.

 

“How can I be of service?” Sean offered them both a rickety chair each before his desk and pulled up a third for himself at its side, “Oh! I’m so sorry, I haven't seen your face before. I’m Sean Hampton and who might you be, my lady?”

 

“Ava. Pleasure to meet you, Mister Hampton. Thank you for meeting with us.”

 

“The pleasure's all mine, Miss Ava. Please do call me Sean, everybody else in these parts does so. What matter is it that you wish to discuss?”

 

“Miss Ava saved my life today, Sean! From one of the infected. He would’ve killed me otherwise. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go and well I was wondering if you would give her a bed.”

 

“I’m delighted you’re unharmed Rufus and I’d be happy to repay such a debt, but what happened, my lady? Why have you nowhere to go?”

 

“Truth be told, I’ve only been in London for a few hours at most. I was looking for someone when I heard Rufus’ attacker. I would be very grateful if you would give me a bed until I find who I seek. I’m afraid I don’t have much to give you in return but I’m happy to help you in any way I can.”

 

“Might I be so bold as to ask who is it you seek?” he didn’t seem curious, only as though he wanted to help.

 

Ava hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to trust the man before remembering that she really didn’t have a choice, “A woman by the name of Bridget. A common name, I know. Especially since I am yet to even know her surname.”

 

“Rufus, would be so kind as to fetch us some tea?” the boy was on his feet and out the door more quickly than Ava thought possible for such a malnourished body, the door shaking the metal panels from how hard he slammed it in his haste. Sean stood, promoting her to do the same, “Is this some Priwen ruse?” his voice was calm and so was he but he looked the woman before him dead in the eye. This ‘Priwen’ clearly meant a lot to him and she doubted it was in a positive way.

 

“I’ve always welcomed your kind here with open arms. Always had your wounds tended to and bellies filled. Even your new leader one stumbled through that door and I myself welcomed him and gave him a bed and bandages. Is this how the Guard aims to save its bond? By sending a spy to find dear Old Bridget?”

 

“Hold on just a moment. What Guard? I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. I don’t know who Priwen is and I am most certainly not here to spy on anybody. I only know Bridget’s name from the voices.”

 

“Voices?” Sean’s whole demeanour changed, his kind auto returning to its rightful place.

 

“Yes, they appeared to me the moment I awoke. In-in-in a lake in West Meath. Only a fortnight ago. Sir, to be true I am barely certain of my own name. I don’t remember anything from before.”

“The voices told me to come here, to London. I just arrived today. They told me to find Bridget before leading me to this borough where I found Rufus being attacked by some beast in an alleyway. Sir, I implore you. I mean you no harm in any way, I am merely trying to figure out who I am and what happened to make me this way.” Sean sat back down and crossed one leg over the other. He was examining her face. For what he wasn't sure. Any trace of a lie? Proof? She wasn't human, that much was clear. Her eyes betrayed that. Her eyes too silver to be that of a human or an Ekon, although the messy bite mark on her neck suggested she had a run-in with the latter before. The clean scar along her face had been one of the reason her thought her to be a member of the Guard, their bodies were never unscathed.

 

“Please forgive my previous presumption of you, Miss Ava. The way in which you carry yourself is akin to that of a Priwen hunter; stiff and strong. Old Bridget has been sought-out by the Guard since they came into existence simply because they know not who or what she is. They know I would never give up any information as to her whereabouts and have yet to ask such a thing of me again after I told them nothing the first time. Though with recent events I thought they may try again so please excuse my caution.”

 

“You are forgiven, Sean. I understand your distrust seeing as I’ve only just arrived. And I’m sure all this blood is less than comforting. I must apologise for my state.” she looked over the bloodied cuffs of her blazer and the crusting blood coating her fingertips.

 

“We see our fair share of blood here, not to worry,” he dismissed her with a quick flick of his hand, “ I want nothing more than to help you find what you seek and thus I will take you to Bridget. She knows a lot more than I about such matters and will hopefully be able to identify what exactly it is that became of you. But you must promise me that you will do no harm to her or her flock, for I know now that you are not a hunter but friend to these creatures I doubt you are.”

 

“Creatures? What creatures?”

 

“You’ll soon see, Miss Ava. But before you do, I need your word that you will do them no harm.”

 

“You have it.”

 

“That means leaving your firearm above ground, Miss Ava.” She eyed the man with caution. He was a priest was he not? How could he possibly know to look for a weapon.

 

“As I said, we get all kinds of people passing through our doors. I have learned out of simple necessity to spot a concealed weapon, even on the most unlikely of characters. Old Bridget is a gentle soul yet a cautious one so be aware that she may not warm to you right away. Let your weapon rest there and follow me, quickly now before Rufus returns.”

 

Sean stood and went to an almost empty bookshelf in the far corner of the room, pushing it to the side to reveal a door. There were three separate locks, each one taking a different more-elaborate key than the next. Ava hesitated as to whether or not to leave her pistol behind. She needed Sean to trust her if he was to lead her to Bridget but she had no idea what she would find on the other side of that door. One of the voices told her to leave it whilst another told her to stay cautious and protect herself. She supposed she would have to do both and left her weapon on Sean’s desk. He opened the door and beckoned Ava through before him, shutting it quickly and locking it behind them. The lights of the room were already turned on, candle light igniting wrapped bodies, the smell of strong herbs overwhelming her senses.

 

“Ah, yes, this is the room for the poor souls who were taken by the Flu. We keep the bodies here until we find somewhere most appropriate than a mass grave. This way.”

 

“You use herbs to cover up the smell?”

 

“Yes, it was worrying those still in the land of the living. Bridget lives in the sewers away from prying eyes, the way is well-lit but I hope you have no quarrel with small spaces.”

 

“None at all. Lead the way, Mister Hampton.”

 

Ava couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in her stomach or the lightness of her head. Sean seemed a good man, she wanted to trust him but circumstances made it difficult. Nevertheless she followed the man through the damp tunnels. If she was to die down here beneath the city, she had nothing left to lose. The smell of the sewers was so familiar. It wasn’t the smell of sewage but of ancient flesh, dead flesh. She knew it too well and it filled her with absolute dread.

 

“So you know nothing of before you awoke?” he asked, unlocking a rusting gate.“No, not really. I have these dreams and although I know I’m asleep, they feel real, as though they happened yesterday. I think they’re memories from before.”

 

“I see. Knowing oneself is a very important thing, it is my regret that you do not have the same luxury as I. May God help you find your past, Ava.”

 

Before she could thank him for his well wishings and kind words they reached the source of the dim light at the end of a dark passage. The space was vast and cluttered with stale beds, oil lanterns and tall wooden scaffolding knitted with brick. A river of sewage wound its way beneath the settlement. The scent of decay had grown more intense, Ava could barely stand it. The faint scattering of rodent feet was the only real noise to be heard. The stream was nearly stood still, as silent as could be. Knotted skeletons hung from the rafters, old yet fresh enough to cause even more alarm.

 

A lone hooded soul stood amongst the wooden carcass.

 

“What is this place?” Ava hadn’t much else to say, the settlement was quite unlike anything she could have imagined to find within the sewers.

 

“Sean, why have you brought me here?” her eyes couldn't decide on whether to stare at the corpses or the approaching figure, unsure which made her feel more ill.

 

“I promised to bring you to Bridget, this her domain and this is the lady you seek. Although I am unsure as to where the other usual occupants of her shelter are. Bridget, where is your flock?”

 

“I’ve asked them to take leave for a moment. Banshee blood is nothing if not intoxicating to us, we caught your scent the moment you entered the vicinity. You must more be careful, my dear, most vampires here will not be so impartial to your sweet blood.” Bridget finally reached them, her features now visible in the light. She wore withering clothes and a somber expression, her eyes looked haunted, aged by years of hardship though she still appeared soft.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. For I am no Banshee and I fail to see any other beasts from the Penny Dreadfuls here.”

 

“How fascinating, you are unaware of your condition. My dear, can I ask how much you remember? Of your past, I mean.”

 

“I…” she felt a sudden sharp sting in her side and moved her dark blazer to the side. Dark blood let the fabric of her blouse cling to her skin. She sank, Bridget managed catch her arm and break her fall.

 

“My God, is she injured?” Sean knelt down beside her and only now saw the blood that bloomed from her side and spread.

 

“Allow me to take care of her. She can rest here. We have a lot to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re all doing wonderful and that you enjoy this chapter. The next one will be entirely focused on Geoffrey in case anyone was wondering what he’s up to at this point in the story x


	7. McCullum

> _Come collect your dogs, McCullum. It would be a terrible shame for such young blood to go to waste._
> 
> _Lord Redgrave, Earl of Bristol_

  
  


He crushed the paper in his palm, letting the thick wax seal of the Ascalon Club crack and crumble. The rookie’s body sat before him, hunched over with her limbs laying loosely like a doll. The letter had been staked to her chest with none other than a Priwen stake, her complexion pale and body drained of blood. Her corpse was discarded on the doorstep outside a temporary Priwen base in Bristol along with some 26 bloodied Priwen patches. The base’s leader, Cormac, had sent for him immediately.

“Sir?”

Geoffrey was crouched down beside the girl, his free hand attempting to rub the tension from his forehead whilst his other grasped the letter, “Yes?”

“Why here? Why Bristol? If our men attacked their headquarters in London, why send a body for you here? We must know of our base in London,” the Chaplain of the base asked. Geoffrey rose to his feet, discarding the crumpled letter on the ground and shrugging off his tattered coat, he carefully draped the fabric over the poor rookie’s body.

He had managed to avoid returning to Bristol since that fateful night only a little over a year ago. The Ascalon Club, the very reason for his unwillingness to return, had managed to get him straight back to the very doors he hoped he would never have to see again.

“Oh G-God,” the Chaplain's lieutenant sputtered, “The sick bastards,” She had just caught on to the tricks of the Club.

“What is it? Speak up.”

“This is.. this is where Ava Bradley was murdered, bout’ a year ago. Sir, I’m so sorry.”

Geoffrey shook his head and gathered the bloodied patches in his arms, “Twenty-one days. It's been a year and twenty-one days, Lieutenant,” he rose to his feet and started back for his old quarters at the base, ”Take her body to be buried tonight. And for the love of God, remove that stake!”

* * *

  
  


He discarded the men’s patches upon his old desk and looked around the room. Not much had changed since he left really except the lack of bloody sheets. The light still somehow managed to filter in through the filthy windows and the whole room still smelled of damp.

Dragging his fingers down his face he sighed. The Ascalon Club was trying to get to him and it was working. He was still not a single step closer to exacting revenge on Ava’s killer, not that he ever would be given the sheer power of that demon. Now over two dozen of his men decided to take matters into their own hands and storm the headquarters of the Ascalon Club. What kind of leader was he if his men thought it acceptable to attack without orders?

A soft knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts. He knew who it was. No one else would dare disturb him here, no matter the urgency.

“Are you sure this is the place you want to be right now?” the man asked before he even had the door shut. Geoffrey was leant back against his old desk with his arms crossed over one another and his sleeves pulled up to just before his elbows like he had been mere hours before it happened, only now he wasn’t watching his love cleaning her blade whilst chattering about what she remembered of London and how she hoped to find her old home. Now he stared at the bare cot where she once sat, once lay with him. The very bed where she was killed.

“I can’t say that I’m sure of much these days. Did you find out who the men were?” he watched as the man dusted off the deflating armchair in the corner of the room before slowly lowering himself onto it. “Yes, three of our units from London and one from Crawley. One of the London leaders reported his men missing last week. They were mainly Rookie’s and went without orders.” Cormac adjusted his glasses, pushing them back against his nose as he began uncrumpling the letter that Redgrave had pinned to the Rookie’s chest. Geoffrey grew silent, his knuckles returning to the tension in his brow.

“Any luck finding the Volkod?” Cormac spoke, not looking up from the ruined parchment. His aged eyes could barely make out the words on a fresh sheet of paper, nevermind one worn by wind and bent by Geoffrey’s frustration. “Bansha? No, he’s a slippery bastard. We’ve only found out where he’s been after he’s already killed. Redgrave still excels at covering his attack dog’s tracks.”

“He has done since I first joined, my lad. He must know you’re tracking him then.” he could just about make out Redgrave’s tauntings on the page before him. Cormac was Carl Eldricht’s right-hand for as long as Geoffrey was in the Guard. His presence was unwavering, the man had barely aged since he and Geoffrey’s first meeting, he had always looked old.

“Of course he does. Doesn’t seem to bother him half as much. Carl would have had him in a month, I have yet to catch him in a year.” Cormac looked up to see Geoffrey cleaning blood from his blade, that particular batch of steel seemed to bleed more than most. It had done the same with Carl’s blade as well as his own. Ava’s blade, a longsword so long it resembles a pike more than anything else, had the tendency to bleed the most out of all the swords forged that day. As worn as it was by overuse and borderline mistreatment it was still a shame to see such a weapon be buried six feet beneath the soil with its owner.

“Carl would never have tracked the beast in the first place. He would have sent you to do it. As he has done.”

He let out a low laugh at that, “It’s good to see you again Cormac. My only regret is that we meet again under such dire circumstances.”

The old man shrugged, the last time they met was at Carl Eldritch’s funeral in the winter. After that Geoffrey was straight back to hunting down the Vulkod, needing no time to adjust to officially being The Guard or Priwen’s new leader having already been unofficially leading it for some two years before Carl withered, “Not to worry, once the war is over I’m sure we’ll have time to meet under happier circumstances.”

“Which war? The one we fight here or the one in France?” McCullum asked, his sword now cleaned and his handkerchief smeared with blood and polish.

“Both I’m sure. But can I be so bold to ask you something personal, Geoffrey? Not as your second-in-command but as your friend and as someone who’s known you since before your jaw grew hair.”

“I know what you’re going to say Cormac and the answer is ‘yes’.”

This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now, his attempts to shut it down before it starts an old trick that Cormac knew too well when Carl used to do the same, “So the nightmares have stopped then? And the cold sweats?” he folded the paper now, halving it once and then again before setting it down on the coffee table at his side.

Geoffrey folded his arms against his chest again, “Of course not,”

“So the answer would be ‘no’ in that case,” Cormac peered up at Geoffrey from over the rims of his glasses, “I was asking if you were alright.”

The desk at his back suddenly pressed too harshly into his skin, “I am. I will be... when I have Fergal Bansha’s head on a pike.”

“And what will you do then?”

He was silent then. He hadn’t spared a second thought to what he would do after all this. Would he be the first Priwen leader to retire? No, he was too young and too foolish for that. He would never take the quiet way out of this life, “Kill Redgrave, destroy the Ascalon Club.”

Cormac sighed. This was Carl’s fault for raising a soldier rather than a son. He raised a man who wouldn’t be able to live in a world without vampires to hunt and people to protect, “Geoffrey… I know how much she means to you, how much you loved her. She loved you too and do you think she would be happy to see what you’re doing to yourself?”

“You have no idea what she would have wanted.”

“That is so very far from the truth and you know it. Ava would never have wanted to see you so poisoned by vengeance, fuelled by nothing but hate!” he regretted raising his voice a second after he did so.

A raised voice never through to Geoffrey, not even in arguments with Carl. The man could be spitting in his face and Geoffrey would merely stand unmoving before him in silence and stare at him with blank blue eyes until the man said his piece. Ava told him it was because of his Father, his birth Father that is, and how it never ended well when Geoffrey responded to his Father’s ravings. He had learned the hard way to never escalate a disagreement with someone close to him when staying calm was an option, even if the other person posed no physical threat to him.

This was the sight that greeted Cormac now. Geoffrey watched him with tired blue eyes, waiting for him to finish or calm down, he couldn’t be sure of which. When he spoke after too long a silence his voice was soft and measured, “By order of Lord Redgrave, Fergal Bansha was sent to kill me in my sleep and when he found only Ava in my bed he slaughtered her where she slept in my place. Right there on that bed, mere moments after I left it. She wasn’t his target and he showed her no mercy. It is my duty to her to repay him that same favour.”

“God protect us, after all this time you still blame yourself?”

“I blame myself for what was a fault of mine. Ava’s death at the hands of that villain and the death of those men who stormed the Ascalon Club. You’re right, I’ve been poisoned by vengeance and because of that, I’ve failed to lead the Guard. Tomorrow we start preparations for London, the rise in vampire activity there has not gone unnoticed and I refuse to let it go unchecked.”

Cormac slowly rose to his tired feet and shuffled over to the desk where Geoffrey stood, “Start off with the stragglers and fight your way to the Ascalon Club, is that it? You want to use guerrilla tactics?”

“Precisely,” Geoffrey nodded and watched the man fumble through a pile of maps Ava once kept in the chest of drawers at the oaken desk’s side, his stiff knees bent at a crude angle, “Hell hath no fury like a man struck by loss and our men have been beaten by it. They joined to protect innocent lives and avenge the ones they’ve lost, it's about time we give them what they’re owed. Where do you propose we start?” 

“You’re one mad bastard, you know that? But right you are all the same. We could start with the Sewer Skals? We know their hideout lies somewhere in the Western Docks. Fish in a barrel, so to speak.”

Geoffrey shook his head and looked over other areas of London etched out onto the map. Oh, how he would love to start with the West End and take the fight to Redgrave’s and all the other aristocrats’ doorsteps, “No. Sean Hampton refuses to disclose their exact location and he promises they have no ill intent. The Sewer Skals are the least of our worries and I would rather not press a man I am already indebted to.”

Magnifying glass in-hand, Cormac’s gaze wandered over the dusty page until he hovered over the Docks again, “In that case, I propose we start with the Eastern Docks. Most of the houses were destroyed during the Blitz. Those ruins could serve as the perfect resting place for leeches, dark and abandoned yet close enough to civilians to feed. There is very little police patrolling those parts as well.”

“It’s settled then. Inform the London leaders and ask for volunteers to go to London. I’m sure there will be plenty men looking for a change of scenery,” Geoffrey sheathed his sword and fished a coat from the hook on the back of the door. Ava’s winter jacket hung there too, the fur collar having leaked some splinters of hair onto the collars of his, “I’ll see you again soon Cormac,” he outstretched his coarse hand for him to shake but the man took it and embraced him instead.

“Not too soon, I hope. But do take care of yourself, Geoffrey. I wish you good hunting.”

“Aye, and the same to you.” Geoffrey was almost out the door when he stopped and turned to face Cormac once more, “Don’t you go catching your death in the winter as well, alright? You had better at least last till spring.”

“Get out,” he grumbled but couldn't help the smile that grew on his face as the young man chuckled to himself and left.


	8. Do Banshees Dream of Supernatural Sheep?

* * *

Although her body ached for it, Ava had barely been able to sleep since she arrived. The creaking of the ageing wooden beams surrounding her and the gargled cries of the Skals below did nothing to ease her mind and let her sleep. Yet when she actually slept her mind was never quiet, never resting. So much so that she often woke up feeling more tired than when she fell asleep. Her mind was plagued not just by nightmares but by dreams. She hated each and every one of them because she knew she dreamed of people she had lost. In one of her many visits to Ava’s hut Bridget explained that her dreams are most likely so vivid because they fail to simply be dreams.

 

“Your kind often dream of their past lives, young Banshee. There is something that ties your mind so strongly to these memories that they simply cannot be left behind.”

 

This did nothing to ease her feeling of loss, of guilt. How long had she left these people for? Did they still mourn her loss? She couldn’t be sure but she could be sure of how much she cared for them, how much she longed to see them again, to even know their names. She had tried not to get too attached to them but they held the only clues she had as to who she was and why she ended up as some spirit from folklore, a myth told to children who wept in terror at the thought. And so as she lay there in a tired cot in a hut suspended above the Skal’s settlement. She couldn’t help but watch the candle at her bedside burn and weep, weep for those her heart ached to see and know again.

  


  
She had seen an older woman, no more than sixty, with a strong crease in her brow and coarse skin. She held a book held open on her knee with her crooked glasses pressed almost flat against the page as she read by the fire. Ava had felt an overwhelming amount of sorrow for this woman as she sat cross-legged by a weakening wood fire. She felt younger here, a child guessing by how little height she had as she walked towards the woman's threadbare chair. She saw herself clambering to lean over the armrest of the chair, peering over the woman’s arm in an attempt to make out the small words printed on the page. The woman turned towards her, her scowl cracking and in its place sat a gentle smile.

 

“Do you want to read?” she had nodded and the woman lifted her into her lap, placing the book atop her spindly legs before creasing a corner and then flipping the pages back to the beginning.

 

  
The next person had visited her dreams most often and was the one who troubled her the most. He had visited her dreams twice in the past two nights, once as a young man and again as a man whose face was aged by hardship, yet still, he seemed soft. She recognised his voice from her previous dreams, only this time it was missing an octave of depth. He lay beside her in a grassy clearing, his features bathed by the sunlight. Turning to look at her, his face broke out into a grin. She saw her own fingers reach out to take a leaf from his dark fluffy hair when a scream erupted in the distance. The boy’s face plummeted and he took off running. She followed suit.

 

The last time she saw the boy in her sleep was just this morning as she drifted in and out of consciousness. He was older now, taller with coarse scruff on his jaw and less joyful yet still _very_ blue eyes. He looked younger than he had when first she dreamt of him and yet not much of him had changed since then. He stood leaning against a dusty wooden door frame which she could only presume to be her own. She only realised now how overwhelmingly tall he was, he looked as though he could almost have a foot of height on her, even more, if he straightened himself and squared his shoulders.

 

Here he didn’t stand prideful or proper but in a slept-in crumpled shirt and trouser. He looked beyond exhausted, a hammock of shadowy flesh hung below his eyes. The man only had to glance at her once before she stepped to the side and held the door open wide for him.“You look like you haven’t seen a bed in a week, Ava.” He crossed one arm over the other, the smattering of red on his knuckles catching her eye as he did.

 

She looked over at her bed. His assumption had been right, she made it some six days ago and had yet to sleep beneath its fresh covers. Papers covered it now, along with a few drops of hardened candle wax clinging to the pressed material, light from the fireplace letting shadows leap across the pages. “I’m sorry to say that I could say the same for you. What brings you here?”

 

“Sleep wouldn’t have me.”

 

He took a few slow steps inside and she closed the door behind him, poking her head out into the hallway first to see if anyone witnessed his visit, “I suppose some of our childhood habits are set to never leave us. Pray tell, why didn’t you come to me before?” she set some water in her iron kettle and let it hang on its hook above the fire.

 

“Truth be told I did not wish to be yet another thorn in your side,” the man turned the chair at her desk around and sat himself upon it, undoing the buttons at his cuffs and taking off his scarf.

 

Ava felt her brow furrow as she approached him where he sat, “You could never be. Not in this life.”

 

“In the next, then?”, his face remained somber but a hint of playfulness laced his voice before he yawned and took her hands between both his own.

 

“Aye, perhaps. I suppose only time will tell.”

 

* * *

 

At least two moons had passed since Ava arrived in the domain of the sewer Skals. They had shown her nothing but kindness even though their mouths watered at the mention of her very name. When first she arrived and collapsed before her, Ava’s side bled with the deep gash of a Skal’s claw. It had taken every ounce of will that Biridger had to resist the smell of her blood, so much so that she insisted Sean be the one to tend to the Banshee’s wound and burn her bloodied blouse before bringing her a step further into the settlement.

 

Despite Bridget’s reassurances of safety, Ava couldn’t help but feel like a particularly brave Skal would burst through her door at any moment and attempt to devour her where she slept. And she invited them to try. A wooden stake rested at her bedside and her revolver beneath her pillow. Although Bridget promised her that she forbade the skals from so much as thinking of visiting her hut on pain of death, she also warned of the undeniably sweet scent of her Banshee blood and just how thirsty these sewer dwellers were so had promptly armed her with a stake and as much as she knew about how to kill the Creatures she called kin. Ava hoped it would never come to that. These beasts seemed so drastically different from the two she encountered before. They didn’t have the same feral look in their dead eyes and humanity still seemed to protrude from their rotting hearts, though sad as they are.

 

She couldn’t bring herself to trust these docile skals just yet but she did feel an overwhelming sense of pity for them, Bridget herself in particular. Oppressed by both their feral brethren and Ekon overlords alike it was easy to see hey they preferred the safety of the sewers to London’s busy streets though they hadn’t much choice. Bridget explained that the word ‘skal’ itself means ‘slave’ in some tongue of old, a fate which the Ekons would apparently happily damn their entire kind to. Skals crave the blood of their Ekon masters as well as that of Banshees, although banshees are a great deal rarer than the Ekons who stalk the streets at night, wolves in the most beautiful sheep’s clothing she explained. According to Old Bridget, the only way to truly tell if someone is indeed a vampire was their eyes; varying degrees of red hues rippled through them like blood spreading through water. Luckily for Ava, the voices should provide enough of an early warning system should she ever encounter such a clever creature on her travels.

 

The voices had been relatively silent since she arrived. Ever since Bridget explained to her precisely who these voices might be. The wisdom of other Banshee’s communicating with their sisters? The voices of the helpful undead damned to a life of unseen limbo, wandering never seen and rarely heard? Bridget thought it to be somewhat a combination of the two, with only information relevant to Ava and whoever she was protecting reaching her.

 

“It’s a passive process for most spirits yet in theory, it would be possible for one of your sisters to reach you deliberately, though I’m not precisely sure how. She spoke to you the first time you awoke, you say?” Bridget sat at the end of Ava’s temporary cot, her shawl pooling atop the sheets.

 

Ava was crouched beside a makeshift fireplace, just pipe set above an iron bucket filled with wood and rubbish really, the smoke set to leave her hut and spread throughout the sewers. “Yes, and yet again when I entered the forest near the loch in which I awoke. She told me to go to London, that’s the whole reason I’m here. Once she said it, all the other voices echoed it. The same when she told me to find you,” she brought a candle from her bedside and brought it to a crumpled, ale-soaked shred of newspaper. The flames spread in a rush throughout the bucket and Ava had to cover them with a slate of iron for a few moments until the lack of oxygen soothed them enough for them to be left alone.

 

“Has she spoken to you since you found me?” In all her years Bridget had never met someone so seemingly comfortable with the flames, especially considering she had informed Ava that fire was one of the few things that could kill both Ava’s kind and her own. Although Bridget sat some ten feet away from the blaze, she still watched with anxious eyes.

 

“No, not a word. Although I feel as though she’s lurking right behind me like if I was to glance over my shoulder right now she would be standing there. I’m afraid to sleep incase she slits my throat whilst I sleep.”

 

Something that Ava couldn’t quite bring herself to believe was that contrary to popular belief, Banshees serve as guides and protectors. They are not the harbingers of death but rather those who warn of it. Their infamously splitting cry is involuntary in the face of death, brought about by the pain of being forced back into the state of which they died due to the painful prophecy of the impending anguish about to overcome the family they’re set to protect. Other Banshee and spirits can warn of death, a sickness, really anything that can cause immense torment and their warning can be so agonisingly loud and damaging to the Banshee that she is forced into such a state, letting out a terrible cry at the pain being unwillingly thrust upon her.

 

What scattered her mind the most was having seemingly no family to watch over. Only a handful of families are said to have Banshees so she supposed it would make sense for them all being accounted for and watched over. She knew that herself from some past story she would never have the pleasure of hearing again. Only members of the old Irish families or those who still carried the surname had a Banshee watching over them. These families were usually those whose surname began with O’ or Mac, though there have been some exceptions in the myths of old, which Bridget insists Ava not refer to as myths. She thought that maybe Bridget herself was apart of the family she was supposed to watch over, though Bridget was quick to assure her that all her blood relatives were long since deceased and her surname bore no Irish lineage in the slightest. Her purpose as a banshee seemed non-existent sometimes, though she spent far too many days contemplating such a thought.

 

“This makes no sense. If the Banshees have not sent me to you with the intent of me finding who I am supposed to protect, why sent me here at all?” As indebted to the sewer skals as she was she hated this, this feeling of uselessness. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand was sitting idle, she had to do _something_.

 

“For guidance, perhaps. You are a lost soul, are you not? This place is filled with lost souls.” This was far from the answer Ava was hoping for and Bridget saw it on her face when it fell, “Has your purpose not already been explained? You died and now you are born again. You have a second chance at life, a blessing from your creator. You are lucky to have such a chance as this, I pray you will not waste it. They sent you to London as it falls apart at the seams, perhaps your purpose is to help mend it?”

 

So now she lay, her eyes so focused on the candle before her that they began to see stars, trying to let her past self go. Whoever she was, whoever she loved, they deserved to rest believing her to be dead and buried, wherever and whenever that may have been. The Banshees sent her to London for a reason and maybe that reason was not to find a family to protect but a city from plague and pestilence.

 

At least that was what she would tell herself in some frail attempt to forget about those she had loved and most importantly:

_herself._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the late update, I’ve ben ridiculously busy these past few weeks and will be until my exams are over. Hope everyone’s doing great and that you enjoy today’s chapter!  
> It should be noted that I’m taking some liberties when it comes to the lore behind the Banshee myth however there are just so many iterations of them in folklore that it’s quite easy to pick and choose bits and pieces that fit and then just fill in the gaps from elsewhere.  
> Again, if you have any questions, ideas or simply just observations please don’t hesitate to leave it in a comment and I’ll get back to you ASAP!


	9. Exit, Pursued By a Banshee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, my apologies for the long wait for this chapter. I've just finished my College exams so I was a little too preoccupied with those to write over the past few weeks. I'm finished now though, so I will hopefully have more time than ever to write and hope to be updating a lot more regularly. Hope you're all doing well and that you enjoy this chapter <3 Don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts, comments or queries! 
> 
> Also if you're ever interested in what I listen to when writing this story it's nearly always the Vampyr score written by Olivier Deriviere or the score from the TV series Taboo by Max Richter, both of which are absolutely fantastic and fit really well with the atmosphere I'm trying to create for this story. The reason I'm mentioning this is that Olivier Deriviere has just released music for the game A Plague Tale: Innocence and it's stunning. If you're a fan of the Vampyr soundtrack, I highly recommend you check it out!

The days began to pass uncounted. Whilst she dared venture out with the safety of her hut, she still lacked the courage or the energy to leave the sewers. She grew accustomed to the same grey, grim walls and those who lived between them. Her dreams were frequent and the voices still largely silent and so, lacking orders or guidance from the other Banshees, she stayed in the sewers helping keep the Skals safe from those who came with the intent to destroy them. And they did come.

 

Every so often an Ekon with shining red eyes would stumble along the winding tunnels beneath the Docks. They reeked of ill intent and something more cruel than she had ever sensed in any Skal. These vampires had a choice. They chose to prey on the innocent and stain their clothes with the gore of those less powerful than they. These vampires, she decided, were the worst and she would treat them accordingly.

 

Ava had been much more prepared for the arrival of the third Ekon than the first. The first caught her almost completely off-guard but she was still able to fight him off. The second had merely ran back the way he came upon seeing the sheer volume of Skals who' nest he had aimlessly wandered into. The third Ekon hadn’t stumbled in blindly like the first or second but rather planned his assault for nearly two days. The spirits warned her of a vampire seeking her out. It was not the blood of the Skals he craved but her’s. He brought with him weapons specifically designed to detain her; a torch, some rope doused in human blood and a stake, although she failed to understand what good he thought any of that would do when she could easily take the stake and spear _ him  _ with it. He was planning on capturing some meek creature who had no knowledge of his attack, let alone knew how to put him in the grave for good. 

 

She waited near the entrance to the sewers. Almost her belongings and garments left in the settlement with a set of clothes on her back she borrowed from Bridget covered in sewage to mask her scent. The dress was far too long and restricting for her liking, she almost wanted to take some of the material in a bunch and so she could move properly but feared she would tear the fabric. She watched the man stalk through the sewers from a short distance away, the stench of his expensive-smelling cologne overwhelming her senses. Every so often he stopped and shook the gathering filth from his otherwise pristine leather shoes, wiping the toes with a handkerchief and muttering to himself. Each time he stopped she had to restrain herself from striking now, she was too far from the encampment should she need some assistance. Each time she almost failed to resist the urge, it was only when she realised he had stopped for more than a few moments that she realised he had finally reached the crossroads, the perfect place to take him down.

 

The Ekon stood pondering precisely which direction he should follow. His nose told him to take all the paths simultaneously, completely overwhelmed by the smell of the Banshee and so many Skals. He was itching to feed again and growing much more careless than he would have liked. He stood there in the fork beneath a drain with moonlight casting grates over his pale skin, so lost in thought that he failed to notice the spirit approaching him from behind with her stake raised, aimed right at the space between his lungs. This kill was decidedly cleaner than the previous in that there was actually an intact corpse to return to the settlement.

 

She searched the Ekon’s pockets, finding only a wallet and a small flask of blood. His wallet held surprisingly little but a few shillings, no information as to who he was, at least not that she could see. The only thing of any real interest he held was headed paper marked with the stamp of ‘the Ascalon Club’ with notes written in perfectly proper handwriting beneath its logo. This club was most likely just a gentlemen’s club or something of like, though she thought it best to ask Bridget just in case.

 

The body was light. She slung him over her shoulder with relative ease, her newfound strength never ceasing to surprise her. She carried both his stake and hers tucked within the crux of her free arm, it could never hurt to have a spare.

 

The return to the settlement was not nearly as long as she thought it would be, the smell of her decaying hosts guiding her back with little trouble. “You have brought us a gift?” Bridget asked, awaiting Ava’s return from the mouth the last tunnel before the encampment. 

 

“I've brought you an expression of my endless gratitude.”

 

Bridget looked almost taken aback at her statement, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders, “Is your protection not expression enough?”

 

“Not when it seems like I am the very reason your people are in need of protection.” They reached the inside of the settlement and Ava offloaded the body and stakes on the crooked desk outside Bridget’s quarters. “See here, these notes. He caught my scent some distance from here and planned to smite me for himself. I would have lead him straight to you.” Unfolding the blood-stained paper, the intoxicating smell of fresh Ekon blood clouded the old Skal’s senses for a moment. Even now it was hard to resist such a treat. The first word she could make out on the sheet was quick to shock her right back to reality. “Redgrave..” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she took an unsteady step back.

 

“Bridget? Are you alright?” Ava never failed to notice the small specks of emotion Old Bridget let slip. She rarely talked about her past at all, Sean even said he’s known her for nearly a decade and never once had she let on a single thing about her origins. All he knew was she was very possibly the oldest soul in the city, and Ava having only known her a mere few months already knew more than he.

“Yes, yes. I’m quite alright. Let us hurry and get the body first to the sick on the upper level. They have yet to properly feed in so many years. Least of all on an Ekon.” Ever dismissive about her past. Not wanting to pry, Ava didn’t push. So she changed the subject to the headed paper, not realising that was indeed the source of her friend’s distress, “You don’t recognise that name, do you? ‘Ascalon’? Is it like a gentlemen’s club or something of the sort?”

 

Again, Bridget looked uncomfortable and Ava now realised it wasn’t the Ekon’s blood or anything else making her so. “It is... something similar. Let’s just say that this wealthy Ekon would have fit perfectly within their ranks. Anyhow, we can talk about this later. But for now I am quite famished so let us make haste.” Ava realised she may have unintentionally hit a nerve, so she simply nodded and helped strip the man of the rest of his belongings.

 

* * *

 

 

It was only another week before the next member of the Ascalon Club came blundering down into the sewers. This time even the Banshee’s spoke of the monster approaching her. Spirits around her wailed and cried, telling her to run, that he was here for her and most likely wouldn’t want her alive.

 

He was huge. Hulking above her by some three or more feet with hands so large they looked as though they could crush her skull like a grape and eyes which told her he would. “Meet with Lord Redgrave or you will perish by my fist. You and these cretins of the underground.” Ava dared tear her eyes away from the monster just to catch Bridget’s eye. She stood in the far corner on the settlement with the other Skals behind her, her eyes staring with such intensity it looked as though they might burst. Bridget slowly shook her head.

 

“I have no business with Lords.” On Bridget’s unspoken advice, she made a meek attempt to stand her ground. Though if this man, whatever he was, decide to attack, all she had was her stake grasped so harshly in her palm that her knuckles began to ache.

 

He moved so quickly that she had only blinked and he had materialised before her, “Has Fergal Bansha failed to make himself clear, Banshee? Or shall I spell it out in the blood of these Skals?”

 

“You so much as think about hurting these creatures and your head will roll before the thought can leave your uncouth head!” The voices roared, pleading for her to back down away from this monster, her head felt as though it could split open at any moment, her entire body trembling in pain. She could even feel Bridget who had rushed to her side, words muffled by the voices in her head and by the booming voice of vampire before her.

“I know now where we hath met before. Few humans have ever been such a thorn in my side as thee. I do not wish to end your life a second time, hunter. Though perhaps it would free my tail of your stray and his rotten fleas.” An overwhelming sense of dread overcame her. The birth of a wicked presence became known to her, trepidation flooded her senses and the other Banshees felt it too. They all cried out in anguish, some asked how something like this could happen again a mere few hundred years after the last. They cried out curses and laments, cries becoming screams.

 

“You shall meet Lord Redgrave in the West End before the next moon or Fergal Bansha shall return to smite thee yet again. This time save the possibility of another untimely resurrection at the hands of the Gods.”

 

She opened her mouth to rebuke but all that fell out was a scream. Deafening to all ears but her own, even the glass lanterns shattered and fell. She felt a surge of even more pain, her chest felt as though it had been torn open and when she looked down, it had. Her translucent skin shone yet blood and gore covered it. She looked to Fergal, crouched down on his knees with his huge hands attempting to save his ears, from the feeling of wet warm blood on her chest she thought his marred hands had torn her flesh when he took to the ground. 

 

When the voices ceased and the searing pain in her chest began to settle she managed to clamp her mouth shut with her hands, tonsils raw and body weak. Fergal scrambled away from her and she crumpled, hands clutching at her chest as she retched. Looking to her shaking hands she expected to see them blood-covered from her chest, but there was no wound for blood to leak. “H-he’s in danger...you are all in danger.” She had never felt dread like this before, at least not that she remembered. Whatever caused such a ripple in the lake of the spirits had shaken them all to the core. The presence of such evil made her feel ill and was only worsened when one particularly panicked Banshee announced that the anomaly originated in London.

 

“Fergal is gone. We are all of us safe,” Bridget replied, looking over her flock of terrified Skals as they refused to take their eyes off the Banshee on the ground, her screams were deafening to their aching ears. One blind Skal held her hands over her head so harshly that Bridget was sure it would burst, “Rest now. Rest here.”

 

She did feel sleepy, so so sleepy yet in so much pain. “No, Bridget there’s something awful. The other Banshees felt it too, even the dead.” Bridget had helped her to her feet and was guiding her towards the nearest beds, Skals scurried out of their path as she did. “You need to leave London, get as far away as you can. I must stay, figure out what it is.” She suddenly remembered the man, she felt him when she screamed. His presence was so close, he could be a mere few streets away, “I-I have to find him. He’s alive, he’s here, I can feel it.”

 

“Ava,” Bridgit sat her down o the cot and crouched down so she could meet her eye, “Listen to me. I know you are afraid. Whatever you just felt can be dealt with at a later time. If you fail to rest now you  _ will  _ perish.” Taking Ava’s hands in her own she turned her palms upright for Ava to see, “You have never been in your spirit form before, your body does not yet know fully how to return from it.” she pointed out the wisps of translucent flesh surrounding the woman in some disorderly orbit and tapped the parts of her hands which had yet to change back to flesh. Ava couldn't see it but most of her face was still translucent, her spirit form fighting to stay and engross her body for good.

 

She wanted to speak, protest and seek out whatever evil had manifested in the city yet she barely had the strength to speak, eyes taking longer and longer to recover from a such a simple task as blinking. Firm hands grasped at her shoulders, turning her onto her side to sleep atop the undressed mattress.

 

“Rest now so that you may live another day.” there was no use in fighting it and she doubted if she even could. So with one last deep breath, she allowed her eyes to close and her body to settle, she entrusted her mind to sleep once again.


	10. The Pursuit of Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, my apologies for the long wait for such a short chapter. The next chapter is almost finished and should be posted within the next few days. In the mean time hope you enjoy this and please feel free to let me know your thoughts <3

Fergal Bansha was never one to stay in a single place for very long. He simply raided a dwelling of his choosing and rested in the ruins of what was once most likely a quaint home with a struggling family living between the rotting walls. He chose at random so he could never be predicted. This had served him well until one early morning, it didn't.

 

He wandered over the rooftops stretched along the docks for some time, white moonlight reflecting off his skin as he took the time to choose his next household to feast upon, failing to gauge just how close Priwen was to finally catching him. Priwen would have little reason to comb through the docks if a Banshee hadn't screamed and alerted the whole of London as to her whereabouts. He was still weak from it, her scream. His sensitive ears still rang and his senses were frayed. He needed blood and rest, then he would deal with the Guard. Very rarely did he ever return to the same place, and never in such a short period of time; His duties to Ascalon rarely ever required him to. But this was different. The very reason he was being hunted so vigorously had failed to meet his Master’s demands and he was here to end her for it, for good this time. He looked to the moon, soon she would fall from the sky and the dreaded sun would replace her, the perfect time to strike a sleeping family who would never see him coming. He made his choice.

 

The early morning was also the most perfect time for Priwen to strike. Fergal would be cornered if they left it to precisely the right moment. Stuck between their fire and that of the sun. A more perfect time had never arisen for McCullum and his Hunters. Having tracked Fergal to the West End of London, they were close enough to the Western Docks when they heard the Banshee's deafening screams that it wasn't an unreasonable detour for them to check on things in the Western Docks. That was where they found him. And it took every single sliver of strength that Geoffrey had left in his soul not to descend upon the beast immediately.

 

They stalked the Volkod through the streets from all sides keeping far enough away from him that they could easily retreat or attack at a moments notice. They waited for Fergal to choose his next victim's house and immediately closed in upon him, not wanting any more innocent lives to be lost. The Volkod stood outside on the house's breaking balcony, knocking on the yellowing window pane until a sleepy child wandered over. Fergal easily manipulated his young mind and forced him to open the balcony door. 

 

McCullum set six men surrounding the crooked block of flats, two gunmen perched on opposing roofs and brought eight others with him to storm the building when a cry was heard. One quick blast of a shotgun and door’s iron hinges were off and they were in. The goal was to capture Fergal rather than kill him on-sight, however, Geoffrey was more than prepared to cut him down where he stood.

 

He never got the chance.

 

Fergal fled the moment the hunters entered, discarding the partially drained corpse of the young boy’s Father and shadow-stepping down into the streets below only to be shot once in the shoulder and again in the side of his neck. 

 

The Hunters funnelled back down the stairs and took off after the wounded beast. He ran towards the Thames and McCullum cursed when he realised why.

 

“Stop him before he gets to the sewers!” he shouted with what breath he could intake as he ran, twisting an arrow into his wrist bow. The sun was rising. A crisp glow coated the rooftops. Fergal didn't have much time. One of the Hunters managed to land a bolas on Fergal’s neck and he stumbled before untangling the weapon from his neck and throwing it back on the oncoming horde of Hunters with such force that he managed to knock three off their feet.

 

Fergal may be intelligent but this was often outweighed by his stubbornness. Despite the sun and Priwen’s numbers, he stood his ground. McCullum stopped, his men fleeting past him as he extended his left arm and aimed an arrow right at the beast’s heart. Fergal ducked and turned, though he wasn't quick enough and the arrow struck his eye instead. He cried out in pain and pulled the arrow from his eye, blood pouring down his face. This assault only seemed to anger him as a young hunter ran at him with a torch, attempting to set him alight only to be grabbed and have his throat torn from its bloodied place. 

 

Blood. The cursed liquid seemed to rule everyone’s lives now, not merely those who drank it. It was only now as Fergal summoned his blood-rooted shadows to billow over his men that Geoffrey realised that they were all of them ruled by blood. Blood itself, the shedding of it, whose veins it does or ceases to course through.

 

Fergal’s shadow creatures caused enough confusion and chaos among the Hunters that he was able to slip around the corner and through the grate of the entrance to the sewers with some wounds from the on-coming sun. Geoffrey drew his broad sword and cut down the creatures nearest to him and cleared a path through which to follow Fergal. He reached the gate mere moments after him and could have broken it in frustration. Months of relentless pursuit only to get this close and fail yet again. He could almost hear Carl’s scolding from the heavens.

 

One of the Hunters soon caught up to him and attempted to shoot off the hinges but Geoffrey pushed the barrel to the side. “Sir?” She looked beyond confused. Bansha was wounded and close enough that they could still hear his pained gasps yet McCullum, Bansha’s most relentless pursuer wanted to halt the hunt now? When they were closer than they ever had been before?

 

“That is the domain of the Sewer Skals, neutral ground. We are forbidden from entering.” he sheathed his sword and stepped away from the gate. He wasn’t about to let his vengefulness break a promise he swore never to break.

 

He knew his unit would be less than happy with this but he wasn’t about to break a promise to people who helped him. These Hunters all had their own reasons for being in McCullum’s unit, whether it be for vengeance against Fergal specifically or Ascalon themselves. Ava’s murder had shaken the Guard in its entirety. Never before had Ascalon launched an attack so intimate and brutal. It was a reminder to everyone that not even those in the highest of Priwen ranks were safe from slaughter, not even in their own beds. If not for vengeance in her name, Fergal had been responsible for the deaths of many of the Hunters’ own loved ones. One way or another, this particular group of Hunters were here for blood. 

 

Having cut down the rest of the shadow creatures, most of the other Hunters had gathered enough strength to recover from Fergal’s attacks and stumbled down onto the muddy banks of the Thames to arrive at the gate. “By whose decree?” one of the fire executioners asked.

 

“Mine.” 


	11. A Newborn Acquaintance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, hope you’re enjoying the summer so far. I’m going to do my best to update every week for the next small while although I must apologise for the lack of a grammar checker as I’m without my laptop at the moment. All the best x

“You’re a Skal?” The sores had already begun to form upon Sean’s leathery face. His eyes now a pale, murky yellow and his heart beat a different tune than before. Bridgit held the kind man’s face her hands in an attempt to calm him, although he did not seem so distraught. “Why must ill will always fall upon those who do the world nothing but kindness?”

 

Sean hadn't really had enough time to process exactly what happened. William Bishop must have infected him with whatever vampiric predicament this was and yet he felt no resentment towards the poor man, only sorrow. For now, he needed to focus on his flock of which Harriet Jones, as bitter though she was, was now a part of. “I will be fine, thank you, Old Bridgit. My worry lies only with poor Harriet.”

 

Bridgit invited her friend to sit beside her on a rotting wooden bench at the edge of the sewage stream. “You need not worry about Harriet, she is safe here now with us. No harm will come to her, you have my word.” she took his hand in hers and he squeezed it. For a moment they could almost believe themselves to be seated near a freshwater river and the glow from the yellow candles to be the light of the moon.

 

“My worry is not with her being harmed but causing it. She is angry, Bridgit. Never in all my years have I seen a soul so bitter.” They hadn’t done this in awhile: just sat and talked together. The war and the epidemic brought Sean’s night shelter more sick and displayed than he had ever had before. He barely had the time to sleep so his visits to the sewers has been sparse. He missed the sewers, though dark and dreary as they were, they gave him hope that people would survive all this suffering. 

 

“I have dealt with many a bitter Skal here before. I will do my best to keep her agreeable and should we require any assistance I’ll send for you immediately. Are you sure you will be alright?” She too had missed this. The epidemic caused an influx of those seeking help in her domain as well. The number of Skals had doubled since the summer months and he own feelings of dread became worse. Something felt  _ off  _ about the whole of the last few months happenings and she hadn’t the faintest idea as to why.

 

“Yes, absolutely. I am more than alright. There is no shortage of our sacred meal out on the streets in these trying times. If anything, I will be doing the plague pits a favour by decreasing their mass. Though I fear the Guard of Priwen may not be so thoughtful. Harriet left quite a sight to behold at the Pembroke, I shall not be surprised if Hunters come looking for me should anyone have seen me leave with Harriet alive. She shed so much of my blood that it would not be unreasonable for them to think one of us murdered.”

 

“You know the Hunters swore never to come here with ill intent. They would never approach you or any other Skal on these grounds at least, though I dare not say the same for outside the Night Shelter’s vicinity.” They were both silent for a moment. Sean realising for the first time that he too was now a prisoner here. He was set to never leave the Nightshelter again, at least not during the day. “There is something I must ask you. Fergal Bansha is set to return here tomorrow unless Ava awakens and goes to meet Ascalon. What would you have me do, Sean? I cannot just deliver her to Lord Redgrave like a lamb to slaughter and yet I know for certain should he return here that every last Skal will perish. I can’t fail them Sean, I won’t.” Oh how it pained her to say his name. It was her name too she supposed but neither she nor anyone else had caused her so much pain as he.

 

He sat for a moment too long. His thoughts were gathered and the words on a predisposed answer were ripe to leave his mouth, he just needed the time to gather the courage to say them. “We could lead her to the Hunters.”

 

“What?” he could have flinched at the sheer volume of her voice had the tunnels not soaked up most of it into their sopping walls.

 

“You know better than I how invaluable Banshees are to Hunters. So long as she is with Priwen, no harm would come to her. They would never dare waste the opportunity to use her abilities. It is very likely that they already know of her existence. I heard her screams from the Pembroke, there was surely Priwen guards nearer than I. We could even get in touch with McCullum himself, I heard he recently arrived back in London and I’m sure he would be more than sympathetic to her situation.”

 

“If Fergal is telling the truth, we know already how Priwen has worked out for her. No. I will not turn her over anyone, least of all those pillocks. And I will not be asking Mister McCullum for any favours. So long as he keeps his dogs away from my home I will live in  _ tolerance _ knowing you helped save his life and nothing more. He shan’t be the leader of the Guard forever and then we will be back to being hunted like mere animals again.”

* * *

 

 

Ava lay with droopy eyes lazily gazing at the plump rat on a beam not too far from her bed. She watched It’s tail twitch and snout bustle as it sat watching the Skals bustling about the sewers. Oh, how she wished to have the life of a rat; so simple yet so bleak. They live, birth a family and fight for food only to die a fleeting death in only a few years at most. At least these rats could sit and watch from afar, they had no obligations or accountability because they lack the dexterity to make a difference. They don’t ask for a longer life because it is already full enough for them and she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been the same. Was she content with dying at the supposed hands of that brute? Had her life been full and had enough purpose to make it meaningful? Perhaps, she would never know but her new set of circumstances made it entirely impossible not to make it so now. 

 

She would go to Ascalon, save the sewer Skals from one last menace.

 

If it hadn’t been for the sudden eeriness that takes at her skin she may have risen from her bed and done just that. Figured out where they conduct their business and make her way to them before they sent Fergal to return though she sensed he just had. He was still quite far yet the spirits around her combined to form such a deafening crescendo that she was afraid she would return to her  _ other _ form. 

 

“He has returned.”

 

“Fergal?” Bridgit sat fidgeting at her bedside, having returned to check on her after Sean left to tend to his flock. Her usually-gentle, calm face turned a shade even paler at the Banshee’s words. She seemed panicked even before she spoke.

 

“Yes. Dammit, he’s found some feral Skals.” The spirits littering the sewers were barely comprehensible through their high-pitched ravings but she caught enough to know the Skals were unsuccessful in fighting him off. “Could we evacuate the settlement?”

 

“It will be daytime soon. We would burn before we even had a chance to find shelter.”  _ Shit _ . That was the only idea she had. “I have spent more than a century confined to these concrete halls. While they once resembled a prison they are now my home and I will not abandon it in a time such as this nor will I resort to the savage methods of Ekons. We will stay here and await our fate.”

 

“In that case, may fate do her worst and see us out the other end of this.”

 

* * *

 

The remaining Skals sat and waited. There was little point in arming them with pikes or stakes, many of them far too weak to even raise their arms above their head let alone raise a weapon. 

 

Bridgit brought Ava one of her stakes and her revolver, knowing these would very likely have little effect on such a massive creature. “You should leave now whilst you still can, Ava. I will not hold it against you.” 

 

Ava was pacing back and forth before the main entrance to concrete clearing, twisting her stake in her hand absentmindedly. “I will not leave you here to die because of me.” She could barely hear herself speak above the nervous chatter of the spirits who trailed about the sewers. 

 

“You’re not just staying here to honour us, are you? You cannot be so foolish as to think you can beat him. Not after the last time you met.” Ava sighed. “No, I’m staying here because he’s coming to kill me and he knows who I was. I have to find out everything, everything he knows about me.”

 

“Even if it kills you? Your past life is that important to you?” Ava didn't respond and that was all the confirmation Bridgit needed. 

  
  


Hours passed and Fergal stayed in the sewers, slaughtering Skals whilst slowly making his way towards the clearing when all of a sudden; he stopped. The spirits ceased to scream as did the Skals who he relentlessly pursued. The silence from the other side was almost deafening until she sensed another vampiric presence. One she briefly felt before, although much less threatening than that of the others.

 

“The voices aren’t talking about Fergal anymore. But there’s a new presence, an Ekon, newborn.”

 

“Another of Ascalon’s aggressors?”

 

“I can’t be sure.”

  
  


When the Ekon got close enough for her to smell, Ava, all too irate at not being able to question Fergal, moved to wait by the entrance for his arrival. The man reeked of death in a way in which the others hadn’t, this wasn’t stale death but fresh, almost as though he had been living in a morgue or a plague pit. He hadn’t even sensed her when he walked through the entrance, all too consumed by what she presumed was bloodlust. His insolence gave her the perfect opportunity to catch him off guard and promptly disarm him of his weapon…. a medical saw?

 

She pointed the blade directly the man’s neck, pushing his chin up lightly with the flat side of they saw. “Why are you here? Speak now.” She wasn’t even sure why she wasn’t cutting him down on the spot, the voices just seemed so unafraid of him. Perhaps she even felt pity for him knowing that the Ascalon Club sent a newborn in the place of their prized Volkod.

 

“My- My name is Doctor Jonathan Reid. I work at the Pembroke..” she cut him off, stepping closer to him and flipping the fronts or his coat to the side to check for other weapons.

 

“I didn’t ask who you are, Ekon.  _ Why  _ are you here?” With each word she spoke to him it became clearer and clearer that this woman wasn’t human yether heart surely did beat, drumming through his ears like a song. And her  _ blood _ . Oh how he had never smelt anything so sweet.

 

“I mean you no harm. Sean Hampton sent me here. He said there was something which he needed me to see. Although I must admit, I wasn’t quite expecting to find a creature such as the one I did.”

 

“Sean sent you? Wait, ‘creature’? What creature?” If any other Ekon had told her this she would have staked him through the heart for spouting lies, but this one was different. The spirits knew something she didn’t and she was more inclined to trust their judgment than her own.

 

“A vampire by the name of Fergal. He tried to kill me but he appeared to be weakened from injury.”

 

“You  _ killed _ Fergal Bansha?

 

“Yes. I’m afraid I did.” She stepped away from him and cursed under her breath. That was it, she’s never get any answers. Jonathan picked up on how her heart skipped a nervous beat, her fave distraught. “Why does this trouble you, my lady?”

 

“That is none of your concern. If you’re here for answers I’m afraid I have none to offer. Although I can point you in the direction of someone who might.” She lowered the saw to her side and began walking back towards the settlement, “Well come on then, follow me. But do not make me regret this, Reid.”

 


	12. Parabellum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I’s so sorry for the seemingly random update schedule. I tried to keep it to one chapter per week but it was proving to be a little difficult for me to keep to. This is me saying, here and now, that there will absolutely without a doubt be one chapter uploaded within two weeks of the last! 
> 
> Also please don’t be afraid to let me know any observations or questions you might have, I absolutely love reading your comments x

On the outskirts of Southwark hidden in a repurposed flour factory which simply ran out of workers when the war started was the largest base the Guard of Priwen had in London. It was secluded, standing by the edge of the carcasses of other bombed factories and houses. Priwen gunners littered the roofs of ruined houses leading to the factory and other Guardsmen stalked the streets, letting Geoffrey and his unit’s vehicles through without a second glance.

 

He dismissed his unit for the night, most of which headed straight to the medical wing. The main entrance to the building a door that stood so tall he felt belittled by it, a shred of nerves striking through him. One of the patrolling Guards warned him that it wasn't just Ajani, the Captain of the outpost, who would greet him but Cormac too.

 

He  _ really  _ didn’t want to speak with him right now. His mood was already foul enough without the inevitable storm of criticism he was about to receive.

 

* * *

 

“You’re a damn fool!” Cormac smacked his fist against the desk before him, “In fact I don’t have enough words to describe the idiocy that you exemplified today. You were so close! If you had just gone through the blasted gate you would’ve had him and yet you chose to call off the search… over the fucking Sewer Leeches?!?”

 

Geoffrey sighed, wanting desperately to retaliate with just as much anger but he knew it would be futile when Cormac was in this state so he kept his voice measured, “I made them a promise..”

 

The man moved from behind the wide table before him and stood squarely in front of Geoffrey, his eyebrows more bunched together in anger than McCullum had ever seen. He reeked of alcohol, now his unusually aggressive outburst made sense but he had never seen him drink before, this was new. “No, Geoffrey, you  _ lied. _ You lied to me _. _ You said Sean Hampton would never give up their location. Is your promise to these savages worth more than your integrity? Is it worth more than avenging the woman who died for you?”

 

“Mister O’Neill, that is quite enough.” Ajani, the London Captain who had stood silently pouring over maps of the city to decide where to redesignate units to had finally spoken up. She was used to their petty squabbles, the London air seemingly making everyone a little more irritable but this was getting out of hand.

 

Cormac failed to even register that Ajani had said something and just continued on with his assault.”Is that the reason you wouldn’t finish him? Because once you do you’ll have no choice but to accept the fact that she’s dead!” 

 

Too far.

 

“Get out of my office and go have a smoke. Come back when you’ve cooled off.” Cormac didn’t budge, still staring up at Geoffrey with bloodshot eyes just waiting for him to crack. “Now!” It took a raise in her voice for Cormac to even begin to turn away from the man before him, taking his coat and a packet of cigarettes as he walked to the door. “And send a medic over while you’re at it. You were so busy shouting that you didn’t even notice he’s been injured.”

 

Geoffrey and Ajani sat in silence until a medic arrived. Blood soaked through his navy shirt, the red of the blood making it seem purple. He only had to lift it to see that the wound wasn’t so deep but deep enough for blood to slicken his palm. The medic arrived within a few minutes and was quick to disinfect and stitch his gash before winding a bandage from one side if his waist to the other. When he was finished he was quick to make himself scarce, not so much as opening his mouth to say goodbye.

 

“Cormac’s been an absolute bastard since he got here, I’m sorry.”

 

“You have no need to apologise for his behaviour, Ajani. But it’s nice to know it’s not just me he’s after losing the rag with. How are you?” She looked older than the last time he’d seen her, considerably. They’d known each other since Carl brought him and Ava into the Guard, he’d only been a child then and Ajani barely aged from then up until about a year and a half ago, when everything started kicking-off. He just hoped her age wouldn’t catch up to her too soon.

 

Her tired old eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, my heart’s still ticking so I’d say I’m alright. And what of you?”

 

“I’ll survive.” She turned an eyebrow up and looked to his side,”It’s just a scrape, must’ve been one of his shadow creatures. He left a few of the others in a lot worse condition than I.”

 

“And the boy? Whose Father was killed?” The rookie McCullum had sent ahead to inform her had barely enough breath left in him to tell her what happened. The poor lad would have most likely collapsed from exhaustion had she not sent him down to the medical wing so she wasn’t going to ask him for specifics.

 

Geoffrey unbuckled the strap of his wrist bow and tutted at the indentation it left on his skin. It was getting too loose now and there wasn’t a hole in the leather for him to tighten it. “We brought him to one of the orphanages in the West End. He was in shock but was able to tell us his Mother died of the flu. His Father was the only family he had.” 

 

“Why not bring him here?” She took the bow off him and opened her switchblade with a flick of her wrist, stretching out the leather band on the wood of her desk.

 

“I think we’ve had more than enough child soldiers in the past. You and I are proof enough of that.” He watched her chipping away at the leather with the point of her knife.

 

“Hmm, or perhaps you just don’t want to be Carl. Can’t say I blame you if that was the case, he was a right old bastard even before he was in the business of taking children into the Guard.”

 

“That he was. I’m grateful for him saving Ava and I from my father however I..”

 

“Would’ve liked to have at least had the chance to experience a normal life? I understand. He never gave me a choice either. Nor any of the other people he saved.” There was a bitterness in her voice that Geoffrey almost missed if it hadn’t been for the harshness of which she sunk her blade back into the thick leather of his wrist bow’s strap, the knife sticking a little too far into the desk beneath it.

 

“Yes, that and I would have rather been raised as a son, not a soldier. You must feel the same way, I presume. And he never wanted anything to do with Ava. He never wanted to raise her or train her, wouldn’t see her go out on hunts larger than a nest clearing.” The line of his eyes was set into a frown now, watching the small shavings of leather peel away as Ajani carved two additional buckle holes for him.”With you, he refused to let you progress to the position you deserved and now that you have it you’re the best bloody Captain we have.”

 

“I have you to thank for my advancement. And you had better not be withering away. You get any thinner and I’ll force feed you my beloved’s stew. She makes it better than any of you Irish, I’ll tell you that.”

 

“No, you only have yourself to thank for that. I’m just sorry you weren’t appointed twenty years earlier.” He sat back in his seat and sighed before the reality of Ajani’s last statement hit him, “Wait better than ours? Those are some hefty words, Ajani. Cormac would have your head for that.”

 

“He can have it if he honestly thinks Irish stew is better than that of my Annie. You should try it sometime, come over for dinner one day when the dust settles.”  _ The dust of this endless conflict. _ She was smiling now, looking over at him as she wiped away the leather shavings.

 

“Once this epidemic is sorted and my conscience is clear, it would be my great honor to join the both of you for dinner. You might even be able to persuade Cormac into joining too. We’ll just have to make sure he lays off the brandy.”

  
  


Before Ajani had the chance to agree the man in-question haphazardly stumbled in with rickety footsteps. “Speak of the Devil..”

  
  


“I apologise for my outburst.”  _ Well that’s a first.  _ “I hope we can simply move on from our petty squabbles and focus on the matters at hand. Yes? How was your meeting with Doctor Swansea at the Pembroke?” Cormac questioned, wasting no time in seating himself on one of Ajani’s well kept couches.

 

Geoffrey and Ajani shared a look, he waited her to be comfortably seated in her chair before even beginning a response. Ah, he's a fool. He’s got two leeches just roaming free about the hospital. No wonder there was an incident such as this. Lady Ashbury or Lady Blackwood as we know her better appears to pose very little threat, she’s too smart to pull something off in such a public setting but the Doctor Reid on the other hand…”

 

“Who?” Ajani handed Geoffrey back the strap of his wrist bow that now came with a chance of actually fitting him, accepting a squeeze of her hand in thanks.

 

“A newborn leech. He’s working at the hospital as a surgeon and his bloodline seems far from weak. As well as that, he’s been feeding, his eyes were as red as my very own blood. I worry he’s already taken life from a patient.” The London Captain quickly sat back in her chair at that, old eyes blinking rapidly at the prospect of a vampire doctor. It was ironic yet not unheard of, although in her very own back garden? She wouldn’t have it.

 

“Had Swansea anything to say about ‘the incident’?” And what a bloody affair it had been indeed. McCullum had never seen such bloodshed of neutral ground, a testament to Doctor Swansea’s failing methods of vampire observation. 

 

“Only that one Harriet Jones and.. Sean Hampton were missing. He couldn’t be sure of much else and he’s downright refusing to take any action.”

 

“The Brotherhood of St. Paul has always been spineless, although I am surprised he’s letting a vampire doctor simply tend to patients. He could be killing every patient he’s coming into contact with, for all we know he killed these two patients, maybe even more!” The thought of an Ekon operating so close to the sick made her spine crawl. Having already been at the mercy of Ekons who prey on the captive weak and helpless, she wasn’t about to let this Doctor Reid have the benefit of the doubt.

 

“No. This was messy. Ekons would never leave so much blood behind, least all one who works in the very same vicinity. It was most definitely the work of a Skal…. Swansea reckons the Skal in-question was Hampton.” He could see Cormac’s fist clenching, he was just itching to say something. As was Ajani. “Before either of you have a go at me, it doesn't matter what Hampton is or is not. I owe it to the peaceful skals who would’ve been slaughtered like fish in a barrel by my men had I permitted them to enter the sewers. I will deal with Sean, there are more pressing matters at hand.”

 

“He’s right, the number of vampires roaming this city is remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it. Between Ascalon having it’s foot in every door from parliament to public houses and skals, even Volkods, casually roaming the streets. London will perish and the rest of Britain along with it if we fail to quell the rising numbers. We’ve already doubled the patrols here but I think we need to double them again. Form blockades at every street corner.”

 

“We need another Great Hunt.” The two Captains responded with looks of dread. “Nothin’ else will work. Things have gotten too out of hand. We have the numbers this time.” Cormac adjusted his glasses and let out a sigh,  _ But at what cost to the Guard? _

 

For a few moments neither of the two Captains spoke up, both looking at other waiting for them to respond. With a huff, Ajani was the one to break the heavy silence. “We would need a week to designate patrols and divide the list of names between our units. We’ve gathered quite a few names in recent years, I doubt we’ll get around to them all before the New Year. Of course I will leave you a sizeable number to help find the source of the epidemic and leave Mister O’Neil’s spies to him.”

 

Geoffrey nodded his head in understanding, this wasn’t something that would just happen overnight. He turned to Cormac who desperately stared at the floor in an attempt to wish himself away from here and back to his post in Bristol, although he knew that, as second in-command, he was needed here. “We need you and your spies to gain as much intelligence as you can. I want someone watching Reid, Swansbeary, Ashbury, and every member of the Ascalon Club in the city. Some bloody leech caused this epidemic and we  _ will  _ find out who and how to stop it. Any further developments come straight to me. We  _ will _ eradicate the threat this time.”

 

“And what will you do about Bansha?”

 

“Forget him, for now.” He knew that meant forgetting  _ her _ too. The Guard of Priwen didn’t needed his vengeance right now, it needed a leader.


	13. Yours Truly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope you’re all doing well. Again, my apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes as I am still without a laptop and have been unable to properly check everything for mistakes apart from proofreading it myself. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments. They are so wonderful to read and I love hearing what you think about everything that’s going in the story.
> 
> Hope you like this this chapter and that your weeks gets off to a great start tomorrow ! x

“I trust that you’ll visit us.” Bridget grasped Ava’s hands between her own, eyes glistening even though she was the one who suggested her leave.

 

Ava didn’t want to leave her, Bridget was just about the only certainty her life had. Everything else she knew wavered or appeared as though it existed only through a wall of warping water, no clarity or solid foundations to be found. “And take care of yourself won’t you? Ask Doctor Reid to point you in the right direction of answers then remove yourself from him and any other Ekons you find. They are your most dangerous adversaries, Ava.” 

 

“Bridget I.. there are no more questions for me to pursue. I must help put an end to this scourge of London. Doctor Reid appears to need all of the help he can obtain. My past, as it is  _ the past _ , can rest for now.”

 

“Well, in that case I just hope the voices of your Banshee sisters return to you soon, you will be in need of their guidance. I know you felt a disturbance when Fergal was here, it was not merely your mind reacting to seeing your murderer was it?” How was it that she had allowed this woman to get to know her  _ so  _ well when she didn’t even know herself? Neither did Bridget know herself, she supposed. Such a shame that a soul so giving ended up becoming so lonely.

 

“No, it was not. I was in agony and there was so much blood. When I looked downwards my clothes were different, my skin was white as a sheet and my chest had been torn open, rib cage shattered and my heart was missing. I thought Fergal had struck me but he was a few paces too many away from me for him to have possibly been the cause.”

 

“Ava.. I think he was the cause. Not then but when you were killed. I explained to you how it is believed a Banshee is created before haven’t I? A woman of celtic blood is killed in such a violent manner that the very Gods themselves take pity on her and bring her back to Earth. What I never mentioned due to having little evidence of being a fact is that when you take your spirit form, you take that of the moment of your death. Fergal claimed to have been the one to kill you and I very much doubt he has the capacity to be anything but brutal.”

 

That whole event was a blur for her but one thing she would never forget was the pain. “So that’s what causes such a scream? The pain from my moment of death?”

 

“It would appear so, although it was thought that such anguish was caused by the foreseeing of an event which would have a highly negative impact on the family you are tied to. I remember one poor creature held her head and wailed at Peterhead for the losses suffered by a branch of the MacRae’s of Scotland during the Jacobite Rising of 1715. I went to comfort her and my arms merely passed through her. She kept calling out, mourning the loss to this family and there was little I nor other passers by could do for her. That was the only real encounter I had with a Banshee before we met, all my knowledge is based on speculation and rumour. Very little is known here about your kind.”

 

“The voices were so loud, I thought my head would explode. I have never felt the spirits so strong.”

 

“That would most likely be because you are never truly closer to the death when you are in your spirit form. Which is why I insist that you must keep your stress levels to a minimum, work on focusing on staying on this plane rather than that of spirits. The more time you spend as your spirit self, the harder it will be for you to return to your form of flesh.” Bridget squeezed her hand tighter before bringing the woman in for a hug, “Just promise me you’ll visit, won’t you?” That same question, yet again.

 

“I promise to return as often as the world wills me to. Is there anything from the surface you wish me to bring for you?” Ava spoke with her chin leaning over Bridget’s frail shoulder. She often forgot how old this woman was, it was only when she was close to that how frail she had become was so apparent. 

 

“Ava, my dear, I only wish news of your happiness and a promise that you’ll one day return.” Her fear of loneliness was ever-present and Ava knew it, not wanting Bridget to think for even a moment that she would abandon her after how much she had done for her. Her debt to Old Bridget was unpayable, never-ending. This woman helped her figure out who and  _ what _ she was, Ava would never forget that.

 

“You have it.”

 

“Wonderful, off with you then.” Bridget pulled back away from her, a tear of blood streaking down her cheek, ”The streets of London await. May you put an end to this nightmare.”

 

* * *

 

Jonathan Reid was a strange creature. Although the spirits promised good things from him, she was never quite sure where his true intentions lay. He was digging around the sewers looking for proof that Sean hadn’t killed one Harriet Jones, a  patient at the hospital where he works who was thought to have been murdered by Sean. Why he needed proof she couldn’t understand. He is a vampire, not a hunter, so what business of his is it what Sean does as a Skal? If anyone was able to stay away from killing innocents as a newborn Skal it would be Sean. If Jonathan knew anything about the man, as he claimed he did, he should have known Sean’s heart was pure and incapable of harm. 

 

So when Ava found her way to the surface, past the rotting corpses Sean had clearly taken a liking to, and into his office only to see the man in question with his mouth latched onto to Jonathan’s wrist like a viper, she was surprised to say the least. But she knew why he had done it, sated the man’s thirst with his own Ekon blood should he ever be tempted. He did it as a precaution, should Sean’s hunger ever outgrow his wanting to help those in need. Perhaps this Doctor Reid had good intentions, yet there was still something about him that didn’t quite sit right.

 

He seemed almost grateful to have her proclaim she would be going with him.Many hands make light work, she supposed. It was only logical that he be happy for another helping hand and Jonathan Reid seemed to follow the laws of logic almost religiously. After he told Ava and Bridget he was trying to stop the plague it was hard not to want to follow him, even if he did slaughter the only clue she had to her past. 

 

“Bridget has informed me of your many months simmering beneath the streets, why come out onto the surface and show yourself now?”

 

“A change in priorities.” She shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to get her arms to sit better in the clothes she wore. She had been wearing only the most comfortable of clothing in the sewers, there was no one there who cared for style or shape, yet now she was back in proper clothes or at least the closest thing she had to “proper”. Jonathan had given her a strange look at first when she appeared in a blazer and trousers, however, he was quick to amend his thoughts. These clothes were practical, not comfortable, but they were certainly easier to move in than a dress.

 

Ava walked quickly and with purpose away from Sean’s office and toward the exit of the shelter, so much so that Jonathan had to break into jog to keep up with her initially. “Alright. Might I be so bold as to ask why you were so distressed upon learning that I had put an end to Fergal? Do you work for this ‘Ascalon’ as well?” She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, tilting her chin ever so slightly to met his eyes.

 

This Ekon asked far too many questions for her liking. He knew too much about her, Sean and the other Skals already yet still he craved more answers? “I don’t think that is quite any of your business, Doctor. But believe me when I tell you I have nothing but ill will towards them.”

 

“Very well then I-“ a scream erupted from outside the shelter, sharp and panicked. Ava ran to the doors from whence it came, taking her first breath of fresh air in months as she did. The night air was peppery, ash and pestilence prickling the inside of her nostrils.  _ Still better than the dead air of the sewers. _

 

The woman who had screamed sat crouched, wailing and clucthcing the person who happened to stand nearest. Her rickety finger outstretched as if an aging hawthorn branch, extending towards the corpse of a man laying face-down in the mud. Blood branched out in the mud around him, collecting in small pools where the creases of others’ footprints lay.

 

“He was pushed.” Jonathan looked over the body. A small crowd gathered.

 

“How on earth do you know that?”

 

“Because a man with a cut throat wouldn’t be able to climb the roof now would he?” Jonathan’s sharp and pointed reply should have made her turn to glare but instead she looked to the roof, no one was there but she sensed someone else had been. The spirits confirmed it too. “ _ A Vampire. She Is A Vampire.” _

  
  


This “Doctor” confused her to no end. One minute he was all about formalities and kindness, the next he spoke as if irritated by the very existence of others. Ava trusted that he wanted to end the epidemic, though as to why she couldn’t be sure. The only thing she could truly be certain of is that she couldn’t trust him, least of all with how desirable her blood would be to him. ‘A newborn Ekon is a conflicted Ekon’ was what Bridget told her and she wasn’t about to let the man and his seemingly good intentions decide her path by allowing him to lose control and drink her blood. She had already been killed once by a vampire, it would be best not to that number become ‘twice’.

  
  


”Someone..Something.. has been taunting me.”  _ The vampire _ . ”To what end I do not know,” Jonathan turned the man over much to Ava and the crowd’s dismay, “This pocket watch belongs to my Mother. How did they? I? I must go and see her. This monster has been in her home. She might be dead already.” That was strange, the first tinge of emotion Ava had seen from him since she met him only a few hours ago.

  
  


“It’s funny how death seems to follow you around.” Lottie Paxton sauntered past with a box of medical supplies in her arms, her eyes trained on Ava as she said so. “I’ve seen ya twice and each time you reek of it, more so than the good Doctor here who I’m sure spends more time with the dead than the rest of us.”

 

It was Jonathan who answered. Not accusing, almost curious. “What exactly are you implying Miss Paxton?” Her face sweetened when she turned her attention to the man.

 

“Me? I ain’t implying nothing. Just find it interesting is all. Evening Doctor.” Ava stared in confusion at the woman’s back as she walked off into the dispersing crowd, strange how quickly people of London recover from such an event. Why was Lottie 

so confrontational towards her? Whatever had she done?

 

“We should go to the man’s address,” He extended the man’s wallet to her, a note with an address peaked over the lip of one of the note’s sections,”See what I can find out about him.”  _ And we’re back to the logical, apathetic Ekon. _

 

Maybe he was logical but he seemed to have a habit of delving into distractions. “What exactly does chasing spectres have to do with putting an end to the epidemic?” She hadn’t meant to sound as harsh as she did. The voices were running wild again, no longer flinging glowing reviews of the Good Doctor Reid as they previously had been.

 

“Nothing, but I shan't be able to rest whilst a vampire taunts me with my Mother’s belongings and spilt blood. A quick diversion, I promise. Your abilities, though I know only what I have been told, may prove most useful in situations such as these, if you would be so kind as to accompany me.” She seemed little other option. A “quick diversion” could do little harm.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t kill humans.”

 

The voices warned of the seemingly small Priwen battalion just around the corner of the foggy streets. Jonathan’s senses alerted him to them too, ears picking up the sound of their chatter. He unsheathed his weapon and gestured for her to do the same.

 

“What? Do not play games with me. These men are Hunters, they will be trying to kill us _.”  _ He spoke in harsh whispers, careful not to lose the advantage of surprise they had on them.

 

“No, Doctor, they will be trying to kill  _ you _ . I am physically unable to harm humans, the Gods forbade it. “ He scoffed as though he didn’t seem to believe her but refrained from questioning it.

 

“Well then can you at least cause a distraction so that I may?” A vampire Doctor who claims good intent yet has no qualms about killing Hunters whilst they patrol to keep others safe? “ _ Dangerous. He Is Very Dangerous.” _

 

* * *

 

“These Hunters are getting increasingly difficult to counter. They are more prepared each time they try to kill me,” In the darkness, she watched Jonathan wipe blood from his mouth and sheathed his sword “I wish I could just avoid them all together. Figure out what parts of London they dare not tread, perhaps.” 

 

“I’m sure the spirits could help with that. Although I’ll need some time to adjust to the one’s out here they’re considerably... louder than those in the sewers. I’d rather the headache than have you killing innocents.” A neatly folded letter lay abandoned at a dead Hunter’s feet, Ava reached to grasp it in case it was meant for a loved one. She unfolded the paper, noting immediately the scribbled-out words littering the pages and the aching hand that must have written it. 

 

She knew this handwriting. 

 

The inclusion of too many curses, the odd slant of the ‘r’, how the readability of the font decreased as the letter went on. She skipped most of the letter’s contents if only to find the name of the person who penned the it:

 

“Priwen Shall Prevail!

 

Geoffrey McCullum”

 

Everything about the letter suddenly seemed too familiar. Ava vividly remembered helping write letters such as this one. She remembered a kiss on her cheek when she spelt out the word “borough”. She remembered the scratch of stubble against her neck while she read over what was written. The taught muscles in broad shoulders when a word was nowhere to be found in the early morning. She remembered arms around her waist and tired lips on her neck as she added punctuation where he had forgotten it.

 

She remembered  _ Him _ .

 

“Geoffrey...” Ava stumbled backwards until she hit a mossy wall. She sank to a crouch and dragged her palms over her face, testing his name on her lips once more, “Geoffrey.”

 

“McCullum?” Jonathan questioned, “This is from him?” He went to take the letter and read its contents for himself but halted when he noticed tears spilling from her eyes.

 

“I know him.” She read and re-read his name again, seeing the symbol of the Guard of Priwen in the corner and remembering how he could never quite get the first line straight. 

 

“Whatever do you mean?” He leant down beside her and placed the back of his hand against her forehead, knowing she couldn’t get ill yet instinctively checking her for a temperature before realising his mistake.

 

“We were friends, lovers even.” She looked distant, staring off straight in front of her now, chest beginning to heave.

 

“Ava.“ She barely heard him.

 

“I loved him.... I spent over half of my life with him... and I didn’t even remember him. How could I not remember him?” She felt so much of so many different emotions. She longed for him now, his voice, his comfort. She had to find him.

 

“Ava, please listen to me. You’re showing symptoms of shock so I’m going to bring you back to the Pembroke. May I carry you?” He waited, staring directly into her eyes while they saw only memories until a small “alright” fell from her lips. 

 

Jonathan was gentle as he carried her the short way back to the Pembroke, some feral Skals blocked his way, however, and he was forced to turn towards the West End. Lady Ashbury would know how to help as much as any nurse at the Pembroke, she spent more time in that hospital than even he did. Ava hadn’t even noticed the Skals. Her mind was focused on Him and only Him. Everything else simply filled itself in in the background, like watercolour paints on an overly wet canvas. 

 

She was right about one thing: her “dreams” were never dreams; they were memories. And she now understood why her maker had wanted her to forget.


	14. Recurrences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !IMPORTANT! The first italicised paragraphs contain descriptions of main character death and mentions of gore. If this makes you in any way uncomfortable then please read from the first non-italicised paragraph onwards. If this poses no problem for you then please feel free to read on as usual :) thank you!  
> Hope you’re all doing great. I can’t thank you enough for reading this, it’s honestly so much fun for me to write and it makes me so happy that someone actually reads and enjoys reading what I post. So thank you! Xx

_ Her body was limp and lifeless. Blood covered her skin, seeped into her clothes so they latched themselves onto her. Her blood was all over him too, it dripped off his shaking hands as he reached out to cup the back of her head and gather her up in his arms to hold her against him as he often had. Her body still warm and still bleeding. He hadn’t stopped to think when he entered the room and saw her lifeless body atop the sheets, just ran to her and checked her breath despite the cavern in her chest and the growing volume of blood that wept into the bed beneath her. There was no hope in hell that she was alive yet he called for her, near screamed her name lest she hears him and somehow awakens from her gory sleep. _

__

_ The sudden urge to see her face again possessed him to move her head against his chest to rest against the nook of his elbow. His thumb painted a brushstroke of blood across her cheek and the realisation suddenly hit him that he too was covered in blood. His once-white shirt now crimson from when he held her against him. He desperately tried to wipe the blood on the leg of his trousers only smear it across his skin. _

__

_ He let out another cry, trying and failing to stop himself from sobbing when he saw how her once warm brown eyes held no light. He couldn’t even bear to look at her chest again; instead, he focused on her face, leaving bloody trails along her skin as he traced the scar upon her cheek down to the bottom of her jaw as he so often had. When he saw the blotches his bloody touch left he brought her to rest against him again, disgusted with himself for bloodying her face. He rocked them back and forth more in an attempt to calm himself than anything else, face buried in her tangled golden hair with his lips pressing against the side of her head every so often to wake her as he did most mornings. _

__

_ Footsteps soon rushed down the hall and into their room having heard his cries. He didn’t even acknowledge them until her body was pulled from his grasp. _

He awoke in a panic. Sitting up and looking down immediately to his lap but he found neither Ava nor her blood, only a few smears on his own undershirt from a tiny tear in his stitches. His breathing erratic and chest heaving as he sank back down into the mattress, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his arms upon them. He smoothed the stray strands of hair back off his face and took a deep breath, reminding himself of where he was.

Nearly a year and a half had passed since that night and it still haunted his dreams. He knew why. His mother always told him how a recurring dream meant you hadn’t put its subject matter to rest, and that he most certainly hadn’t. Though he wasn’t sure exactly how much of it was real and how much his mind had fabricated in a desperate attempt to fill in the gaps. In a way he was thankful because it let him see her face again, knowing that one day the memory of it would inevitably leave him completely. Although he wished his mind would let him dream of her face when she was still living.

He swung his legs over the side of the rickety bed, although this was one of the softer straw mattresses that Priwen had to offer it still poked and pricked at the underside of his thighs.

“Pull yourself together, Geoffrey” was what Carl had spat at him when he told him of that recurring nightmare not long after Ava’s death, she died over a year ago and he still had yet to figure out exactly how to do that.

* * *

 

 

“Do you wish to stay for a cuppa?” Sean looked uncomfortable when he asked as if Geoffrey was quite possibly the last person on Earth he wished to see but he didn’t wish to be cruel to him either. He doubted Sean was even capable of being cruel.

“By the looks of things I’d have been the only one in the room that’s able to drink it.” Geoffrey eyed the boils on Sean’s hands, they encircled and climbed his arms as though they were vines of grapes, letting him know that no matter how human Sean wished to act that he could never hide his true nature from him. “What the hell happened to you, Sean? I warned you to be careful around your ‘lodgers’, did I not?”

“It wasn’t any of the Sewer Skals if that’s what you’re implying.” Sean had to tear away his eyes from those that studied him. He had never looked at him like this before: with such intensity, such scrutiny. He looked all the more intimidating sitting in his candlelit office, their light casting crude shadows across the room and his skin. Sunlight should be streaming through his windows right now and he would have no reason to fear the man yet the boards he hammered into the wooden frames allowed little light to enter. “It was a friend of mine, a lost lamb by the name of William Bishop. I reached out to him when he seemed unlike himself. I’m afraid I do not remember much of anything from when he had me captured, only that Doctor Reid saved my life and that a few days later I became… this.”

Geoffrey’s silence made him fidget. Those blue, almost wolfish eyes never left him though he looked like he was deep in warring thought. Why was it that at every wrong turn the city took this “Doctor” was involved?

“Have you killed?”

He readjusted himself in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and pushing his shoulders down in an attempt to convince his own body he was calm. “I haven’t.”

“Sean..”

“I may be many things Geoffrey, but a killer isn’t one of them. Should you not believe that to be true then there is little I can do to sway your mind, of that I am sure. Although if you are here with the intent to end me then at least allow me some time to get my affairs in order and my flock somewhere else to go.”

Geoffrey knew he hadn’t killed or had at least hoped. “I find it hard to believe that a leader such as yourself doesn’t have a prodigy in-mind to take over your righteous cause.” His demeanour changed all too quickly for his questioning to have ever been serious in the first place.”There is surely no shortage of other Catholics plagued by guilt and charitable souls in this city? Least of all in these times.”

“I dare say there is not. Not when you fit the very same description you just provided, Geoffrey.” The man across from him scoffed. Maybe he had once fit that description but not now, not after everything he’d seen and done.”Hence the reason I don’t believe you to have come here to kill me.”

McCullum sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Sean was right, he could never end this man’s life, not after he saved his very own. “Right you are. Although I know you must be hungry judging by the terrible stench of death coming from the very same passage through which you lead me many months ago, is it safe to presume you're feeding?”

“Off of bodies from the pits, yes indeed. I feared the smell might be too strong although I need to keep them close so I need not leave my flock for too long. With this blessing I am able to tend them for twice as long as before, and yet there are still those I cannot help.”

“So, you had no hand in the murder at the Pembroke?”

“Murder?” Sean’s eyes widened in shock at that, fingers shooting to cradle the crucifix around his neck, “If you are referring to the incident in which I was injured by Harriet Jones upon noticing that we were one and the same and attempting to keep her away from other patients then yes, I was involved. When I left it there had been no murder.” Geoffrey hated that he recognised the particular crucifix around Sean’s neck as the one unique to an order of priests back in Dublin. Why Sean carried the cross of the very men who abused him as a child he would never understand. The fact that the object seemed to pose no discomfort to Sean also unsettled him; If any leech was going to be exempt from the discomfort of religion and its objects, it would have to be Sean.

“There was so much blood, Sean, I hadn’t a clue what to think.” It was the Mother of a patient who came screaming for the help of the Hunters that night, although they dared not hunt on sacred ground, least not outside of intelligence gathering. Geoffrey wasn’t far “Where is this Miss Jones now?”

“With Bridget and the other Skals in the sewers. She is too weak to move, I doubt she will be of any more trouble.” He would never dream of hunting the peaceful Sewer Skals, not after Bridgit and Sean saved his life, and was happy he would very likely never have to.

“I very much hope it stays that way. I already had to steer my men away from the sewers at the expense of ending the life of a Volkod we’ve been hunting or months.”  _ Probably best not to let Sean know exactly why _ . “I am more than willing to do so again but there are only so many excuses I can conjure to protect the lives of your tenants.”

“Fergal? Oh, you need not concern yourself with him any longer, my friend. Doctor Reid took great liberty in destroying him upon entering the sewers.” 

_ Christ. _

“Geoffrey? Does something trouble you?” The man’s eyes went dead, from shock or what he couldn't be sure. His face didn't even register that he had been asked a question, remaining blank and void of all emotion as he stared at the bookcase behind which he knew stood the door to the sewers.

“I need to see the body.”

He had hoped to never have to see these sopping sewer walls again. Last time he was down there he was half dead, drunk and mourning, not long after Ava died. He had been in London for her funeral; he insisted on having her buried there much to Carl’s annoyance. Ava had never returned to London since she fled the city as a child after her little sister died and her Mother was set soon to join her in the heavens. It wasn’t intentional that she never returned, having been planning her first visit back to her birthplace mere days before she died, she simply never had the chance. Geoffrey was determined then that she would be buried in Whitechapel near where her sister and quite possibly her mother was too. After the funeral, he took to drinking and wandering the streets, even before the epidemic began London was infested with feral Skals and it just so happened that he ran into a few more than he could handle in such a state. He managed to crawl his way through the Docks and into the welcome safety of Sean’s Night Shelter. He knew who he was and recognised the gashes from the marks seen on other Hunter who came stumbling through the door, although never quite so many. Sean rushed him down to Bridgit who wanted to end him at first but couldn’t bring herself to do it, least of all as he lay passed out and bleeding. 

Bridget’s colony of peaceful Skals had grown to the size of a small village now, that he was glad to see. Bridget wasn’t overly happy to have him back down here again but remarked that it was good to see him not bleeding out on one of her mattresses. He took that as perhaps the warmest welcome he was owed. 

The way towards the clearing where Fergal’s body lay was dark and the air was heavy. McCullum could barely see a foot in front of him whilst Bridget and Sean walked on as though the sewer halls were as bright as day. Bridget assured him that they were near and that he had nothing to fear from any of the Skals who roamed about. It was their shrieks from mouths he couldn’t see that unsettled him the most, like they were alerting others that a walking meal was nearby. The ambush never came and the bright light of clearing was soon upon him, his eyes taking a moment to readjust to the harsh lights. Murky water covered and muddied the floor and dead Skals lay scattered, rats too busy feeding to flee from their three new visitors.

A hulking body lay crumpled in the centre.

That’s him. He took a few steps towards the body, drawing his sword in precaution as he slowly approached. Bridgit and Sean stood well back, not wishing any collateral upon themselves should the beast still live. But he didn’t. The way the water reddened as a whole, getting darker and richer in pigment towards the body as if a gruesome flower was enough confirmation that Jonathan had in done what Geoffrey couldn’t do in all the months he tried.

He hadn’t much on him: a letter from the Ascalon Club, a small flask of blood and the arrow McCullum had lodged in him a few nights ago. McCullum had never gotten a look at him properly, never up close. He just saw an unmistakable silhouette and a flash of silver hair on the balcony across from his own on the night that Ava was murdered. That and the fact that Ascalon openly claimed their involvement by having him paint out their symbol in Ava’s own blood upon the sheets at her side; the first time they had ever wanted it known that they had killed, they were always so secretive beforehand but this kill was different. There was little point in Priwen even approaching the police, not with the Chief Constable in Ascalon’s back pocket and Priwen technically falling into the category of ‘vigilantes’, so they're not exactly favourable with the authorities.

Geoffrey crouched down beside the monster, leaning his hands on the hilt of his sword. Cormac was right when he said that he was afraid to kill Fergal. His mind had been so preoccupied with hunting the Volkod that he hadn't had time to grieve for her. Sure, he cried for her and missed her more with every passing day, but actually sit down and accept that she was gone? No, he hadn't allowed himself to do that yet. Some small, naive,  stupid part of him still believed that maybe, just maybe she survived Fergal’s brutal attack, kicked in the roof of her coffin and still walked the earth. That was the part of him he should have buried with Ava, there was little point in optimism during these times and he only really understood that now. She was never coming back.

He raised his sword, grasped firmly in both shaking hands, and looked Fergal dead in the eyes as he let the blade swing down. He shouldn’t be doing this with fresh stitches he realised. If there was any chance Doctor Reid hadn’t properly finished him off, decapitation would see the kill confirmed and Geoffrey’s focus set on finding the source of the epidemic rather than chasing spectres.

Too long had he waited to end that monster, now he was finally dead at the hands of another leech.

  
  


“Is that it then?” Asked Bridget from the entrance to the clearing.

“Yes, I suggest you just leave him to the rats. At least let something have use of his rotten corpse.”

“As you wish.” The flare of irritation in her voice didn’t go unnoticed by the two men but she left them to their own devices before either of them could question it.

  
  


McCullum pulled himself to his feet and freed his sword from the muck beneath the sewage before turning to Sean who approached him if only to see exactly what he had done.“I must apologise for the barrage of questions earlier, especially when you have assured me of your innocence and I am forever indebted to you but I must ask one more if you’ll let me: Have you happened to come across a Banshee in these parts by any chance?”

He knew McCullum would be looking for her, he and Bridgit should have brought her to him the moment after Fergal made the initial threat. “Yes, she came looking to see Bridget a few months ago. She was injured, just as you had been, so I brought her to Bridgit who saw her back to full health and housed her until last night when she left with Doctor Reid. Why do you ask?”

“You allowed her to leave with that leech ?” As far as he was concerned that poor Banshee was already dead. “Even Bridget? Have you both gone mad?” He knew them to be better than this, smarter than this. Bridget was the least trusting of other vampires out of the two of them and back then Sean wasn't even one of them yet was more likely to trust them. The goodness in this man’s heart continues to do him a disservice time and time again,

Choosing to ignore his harsh words, Sean remained as stoic and calm as ever. “Did you wish you speak with her?” Doctor Reid May not have been a man of God but he saved Sean’s life and used his medical knowledge to continually help others at the Pembroke. He posed no danger to Ava, even if he did she seemed able to handle the like in due course. 

“Yes. If by some miracle she evades the bloodthirst of that Doctor and returns here would you please tell her that I wish to speak with her.” His eyes never left the corpse before him, still in disbelief that he was finally seeing it with his own two eyes.” If she is as interested in helping the city as you say then the Guard would be very grateful for her assistance.”

“I will be sure to pass on the message.”

“You have my thanks, Sean, and as always my gratitude.” He managed to gauge his way back to the surface on his own, thankful to taste fresh air when he did. What a mess this day had been. At least Bansha was dead, for that he could be nothing but thankful. He only wished he had been the one to do it, for her. That Ekon, the Doctor spelt nothing but ill news for the city as far as he could see yet he has the faith of both Hampton and Old Bridget? A tough nut to crack and one he managed to break wide open. Geoffrey wasn’t even sure if Bridget trusted him let alone the Ekon who killed his own sister. He had so much to think on and so little time to do it. London needed the Great Hunt and the Great Hunt needed a focused leader who would see this war out to its end, and he wouldn’t dream of giving it any less.


	15. Lady Of The Waxing Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a while (waaaaaay too long) since I've updated but believe me the whole time ive slowly but surely been working on this story throughout my unintentional absence! I'm still just as dedicated to this story as I was when I first started writing it, more so probably, but going back to college combined with work means I don't have any days off again so I can only write in the evening. I'm so so sorry for the unexpected delay, I'll try my absolute best to get back to a more regular update schedule again! Hope you're all doing great as always feel free to drop me a comment and tell me what you think or if there's anything you'd like to see :D

  
  


Priwen Guards littered the streets in surrounding the West End in droves. Jonathan had managed to narrowly avoid a confrontation thanks only to a sewer beast grabbing their attention by cutting down one of their comrades, making it to Lady Ashbury’s house breathless with a barely conscious Ava in his arms. There were Guards just around the corner and due to see them at any moment; He could hear the  _ clink _ of bullets lose within their tattered pockets, smell the blood from crudely stitched wounds mixing with the rotten aroma of smoke from cheap cigarettes. They were so close in fact that he could hear the crunch of gravel from beneath their patrolling soles; far too many, far too close for comfort,

 

His frantic knocking saw no answer from the Lady. He couldn’t fight so many Guards on such an empty stomach, at least not without some assistance. Ava would be no help to him right now. He looked down at her for a moment, only to find her gone. She re-materialised a moment later before fading back out again, her weight never leaving his arms. When he could see her for the briefest of moments he saw her face was stoic, the scar along her cheek without crease from movement or emotion though her erratic heartbeat betrayed her.

 

“My Lady!” He spoke as loudly as he dared with Guards so close by, landing a few knocks on her door again until finally, it opened.

 

When the door swung open Jonathan rushed in quickly before any words or thoughts had been exchanged. Lady Ashbury jumped back from her doorway when he rushed in and again when he slammed the door behind him. The strong smell of sweet blood filled the Countess’ nostrils, she looked to the near-translucent woman who lay in the Doctor’s arms.

 

Jonathan knew how this must’ve looked. Bringing a strange creature into a home he had yet to visit belonging to a woman who had done nothing but aid and comfort him, yet there he stood. “I apologise for the intrusion into your home but please, I implore you, give me but a moment-“

 

“You brought a Banshee into my home? Jonathan her blood-“

 

“I know. I’m sorry to put your self-control to the test in such a manner but she needs help. She’s in shock and needs a place to rest. I promise to explain everything to you as soon as you wish, but I’m afraid there are little options left available to us with the chaos raging outside.” He couldn’t ask her to trust him. He couldn’t even trust himself let alone the Banshee crumpled in his arms. Sometime after the door opening, she had grown unconscious, her body still slipping to and from this world and the next.

 

The Lady readjusted the sleeve of her cardigan before crossing her arms, looking not at the newborn she called a friend but at the Banshee, she had never seen one before.“The guest room.” Jonathan released his breath, “Up the stairs and to the left. There are some medical supplies there should you require them. I expect a full explanation once you have her settled, Doctor Reid.” She trusted him and she would aid him but not for one moment was she going to let him leave her with no explanation.

 

* * *

 

 

“I was investigating the incident at the Pembroke which lead me to Sean Hampton and furthermore, the sewers where I came across Fergal. He was butchering Skals, torturing them, crushing their bones. When I confronted him he tried to end me but somehow I overcame him and ventured further beneath the city; That’s when I met Ava, she was living within a colony of Skals, peaceful Skals. She agreed to help me and we began our pursuit of a killer who has been taunting me, killing innocents and leaving their bloody corpses for me to find, when we came across a letter that seems to have triggered some memory within her. I am unable to help her right now, I must find the monster leaving a trail of innocents in her wake. Please, my Lady, would you mind giving her shelter until my return?” The Lady seemed mostly unfazed by what he had just told her. She had very likely seen and heard things stranger than he ever feared to experience himself, he supposed. Her ever-wise words and demeanour let him think she old, maybe even ancient. 

 

It was at that moment that Lady Ashbury decided to fully trust Doctor Jonathan Reid. She made a conscious decision to trust both him and his judgement but oh how wonderful was it to let him marinate in the thought that perhaps she didn’t? How much she enjoyed toying with the few people she let close to her. “What was she read that was of such great importance?”

 

“A letter…”  _ Oh, to hell with it _ , “from McCullum. Ava appears to have known him well before she died. I don’t know much else I’m afraid, she has yet to share with me all the details of her situation. Perhaps she will be more open with you, my Lady.”

 

“Perhaps,” She struck a match and lit a candle that she had seemingly neglected when at first she lit her intricate arrangement. Her house was filled with those; intricate things. From paintings to fake flower arrangements, even her beautiful auburn hair knitted into braids. “If she knows McCullum then she could be either very useful or very very dangerous, Jonathan. I hope you know which one she is.”

 

“For now, I am willing to assume she is both and I suggest you may do the same. You have my word that I will return to you as soon as I have caught the culprit responsible for terrorising the streets. I shan't be long.”

 

She gave him a look that she didn’t quite believe his last statement. Her voice growing from genuine concern to her sometimes teasing tone, he did love how she managed to find the light in most things. “Alright, but should you return too late you may not have a Banshee to interrogate. I haven’t fed in a few days and she would make the most delightful meal.” She smiled at him, and it was the first time in his colourless life that a smile had made him falter. Jonathan forgot what it was to form words, blood rushing to his cheeks as he made quickly for the door.

 

“V-very well, My Lady. May we meet again soon.”

 

* * *

 

The room was warmly lit with candles and oil lamps strewed about almost every surface. This was not a house of poverty nor was she sure had it ever seen the like. The bed she lay atop had sheets too soft, too most definitely made from the silk of a thousand or so silkworms that Ava couldn't stop thinking about how different this place was to quite possibly any other place she had ever been. One thing she never had to endure however was boarded up windows, or at least not for much longer than searching a den. Lady Ashbury has the boards neatly placed so there were only a few cracks in the boards, hardly enough for the light that would trickle in to matter much to her, she seems like the kind of person to value ventilation over the avoidance of burnt skin.

 

Ava really had no idea what to do with herself. Not only had some of her memories returned but the voices of the Banshees did too. They were so  _ loud _ , deafening even so she tried to focus on the most mundane thing she could. She looked to her hands, still fading in and out of translucency and each time they did so she caught a glimpse of the blood that had stuck there. With each flicker the pain in her chest also returned, she was slipping between her two forms, doing precisely what Old Bridget had told her not to do. She never should have left her, then again she probably never would have gotten confirmation that Geoffrey, finally she remembered his name, was in fact still alive. For how much longer the man would be alive she had no idea, he could be an old man by now. Who knows how long she was dead? A month maybe? A few years? Maybe even a few decades? He was young when she knew him: From the time he was seven until the time he had some two decades more than that. She remembered both those birthdays now and a few more in between but wished she could remember them all. At least the dreams he had when she was first brought back were real, she knew that now, even if she didn't have much context for them.

 

Why must her mind be this way? She remembered so much more now and yet still there was something stopping her from remembering everything; A wall between her and the past made of unclimbable and unbreakable steel that she just couldn't get through, not yet. If anything she wanted to know why this had happened to her, why couldn't she have just been left to die? Geoffrey probably would've told her it was that she was too stubborn to let even Death themselves tell her when to rest. How funny was it that now she could do little else but sleep?

 

Ava had been so caught up in her thoughts and memories that the light escaping all the candles and lamps barely registered as strange to her. The Banshees went quiet once again but this time it was different, she still felt their presence but had gone silent out of some kind of show of respect. It was only when the light started gathering that she took notice. The flames hadn't simply gone out into smoke but began to mesh together. Using what little strength her bones still held she sat up and stared at the light until it began to make her eyes sore. The light formed an imperfect ball before pulsing and flexing into the rough shape of a tall, ethereal woman.

 

“ **Mine own issue, how lost thee hasn’t been.”**

 

Ava scrambled back against the headboard. The woman merely shook her heavy head of hair in disappointment as she began to pace in floating strides. **“Nev'r in all mine own years has't I seen such a creature as thee. I released you back to earth many moons too early it seems.”** The woman was talking to herself it seemed and there was little Ava could do to interject. Her very presence commanded the attention of Ava’s entire mind and soul, forced her to focus on the near-fluid entity before her.

 

“ **Your sisters reject you for not fulfilling your sacred duty, you are neglecting your** **_líne ghinealach_ ** **and I was perplexed as to why** **_,”_ ** The woman stopped at the foot of the bed, and for the first time since she arrived she turned to look Ava in the eyes. The woman’s own were the only absence of light on her form, they showed her hollow inside as dark time-old iron, “ **The Fates hath failed us both it seems; For sometimes they weave ruin.”**

 

Footsteps outside the bedroom door made the wooden floorboards cry and the woman seemed to notice, drawing her attention away from Ava. When a figure obscured the thin bar of light beneath the door to the point where it seemed to all be near-shadow, the woman of light shook her head and mumbled to herself as she started for the cracks in the boarded windows from whence she came.

 

**“You know too much.”**

 

With that she left, spewing through the boards and into the night. Ava shoved herself off the bed and ran for the window in an attempt to plot the being’s course. The small section of the street below that she could make out between the cracks was empty save for a few rats waltzing about the puddle in the moonlight. The woman was gone and with her yet another lost opportunity to find answers. The other Banshees slowly resumed their usual chatter.

 

What could she of all people know too much about? Her past? The epidemic? Not things one can really know too much about unless she was never supposed to discover them at all. It was obvious that whoever created her had stolen her memories and wanted to keep them locked away. It felt wrong to have even as little back as she did but why take them in the first place? To keep her focused perhaps? But how could she focus on fulfilling her purpose as a Banshee with fragments of her past life left like only the crispest of bread crumbs that lead her to a hundred different witch’s houses?

 

With a sigh, Ava turned to face the rest of the room only to see the stolen light returned to its appliances. There wasn’t even a trace of the intangible woman that had been. “I’ve gone mad,” she whispered to herself before attempting to walk back towards the bed only she found herself unable to move.

 

Her arm now translucent and barely visible was stuck through one of the wooden boards at the bend of her elbow. No matter how hard she tugged at it, it refused to give way. Splinters nipped her skin as if to mock her efforts. She felt the pain in her chest and the rest of her body as she had done when she met Fergal but it wasn't nearly as prominent or debilitating as when it first occurred, it was dull even. She must have transitioned into her spirit form sometime during or before her visit from that woman and not even realised. Why was she not doubled over in agony as she had been before? From what little was clear in her mind from the good doctor and her’s journey to here she knew her form was flickering and even then it was unbearable to the point where she couldn't open her mouth save she would scream. Why was this time any different?

 

“Is everything alright?.” The Lady’s words were muffled behind the door. Ava couldn't explain any of this for if she explained one thing she would have to explain it all to a vampire she didn't know and had very little reason to trust.

 

“Yes, thank you! I just had a bad dream, My Lady. If it's alright with you I should like to seek the embrace of sleep again.” _ Please let me be, for Christ’s sake. _

 

“Very well. Do come downstairs in the morning though, I should hate to see you starve any longer. You've been here for days.” With the Lady’s footsteps receding down the stairs Ava turned her attention back to the wooden boards before her. She could, technically just rip down the board and cut the rest of her arm free from there but that would leave a lot of mess upon an otherwise pristine and likely very expensive carpet beneath her feet.

 

Bracing her free hand against the ridges of the wood she tugged her at her other arm only to fall forward through the wall. She closed her eyes and prepared for a fall but the fall never came. Instead, she saw the streets below her with an unobstructed view for she was there within them, looking down upon the mangled world below. Some skals tore at the body of one their own as some rats too looked like they wished to join in on the feast. One particularly close to decomposing skal stuck its chin toward the sky and inhaled, the others seemed all too preoccupied with their meal. The poignancy of her blood must have alerted it to her presence. But the skal appeared to be blind with crudely stained bandages wrapped around its eyes, some stray strands of fabric getting caught within the gory cavity it had for a muzzle.  _ I should be safe for now. _

 

She wanted to panic and it took all her surviving strength to muster up the courage not to, instead she stood still and focused on her body, focused on letting it be her ghostly form again, just for a moment, so she could step back through to safety. And that she did, slowly but surely her skin and bones paled and paled until she couldn’t see her own limbs. With it came the pain, still dull but still very much there. She took a step back, through the boards and back into the warm light of the room and her body complied, the wood didn’t protest this time.

 

She then focused on bringing her form fully back to its human one and ever so slowly, inch by inch, it did.

 

Bridget’s words of caution about letting herself fade into that state rang again in her mind but fell on deaf ears. If she could control  _ this _ then what else could she control? Her scream? Probably best not to practice that but this? She could practically go invisible if she focused hard enough, perfect for moving about the busy streets of London, especially in places where she ought not to be. She might be able to find answers, figure out what happened to herself and the city and the people in it. Maybe she could get a day of silence again now that the voices had returned.

 

She could find Geoffrey.

 

_ No. _

 

Not yet. Not now. She would mould her misfortune into her own gain not with rashness but with patience, use her skills to fight the epidemic. The lives at risk here were far too many not to favour them over that of one, no matter how much she did long to find him. A thread of guilt grew taught in her stomach. No, she wouldn't ponder the thought for more than a moment. The memories she had of him would have to do for now.


End file.
